Sinner ; 

.\achel  Swete^Dacnamara 


.=<£%/ 


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littp://www.arcliive.org/details/belovedsinnerOOmacniala 


By  Rachel  S.  Macnamara 


The  Fringe  of  the  Desert 
The  Torch  of  Life 

Drifting  Waters 
The  Beloved  Sinner 


The  Beloved  Sinner 


By 

Rachel  Swete  Macnamara 

Author  of 
•*  Lark's  Gate,"  "A  Marriage  has  been  Arranged,*'  etc. 


"Heaviness  may  endure  for  a  night, 
but   joy  Cometh    in    the    morning." 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

Zbc   'Kntcliecboclter    pcese 

1919 


Copyright,  191 9 

BY 

RACHEL  SWETE  MACNAMARA 


tCbe  fcnicfierbociter  ptcM,  View  gorK 


H)e51cation 

To  C.  F.  C. 

WHO  GAVE  ME  THE  SEED  OF  THIS  BOOK 


2137076  • 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGB 

I. — The  Colour  of  Marriage  .        i 

II. — Desiree  Demands  the  Impossible       ii 

III. — A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh       .         .       26 

IV. — In  the  Yew  Garden  ...      42 

V. — "Something  on  a  Leash"  .         .       55 

VI. — Blue  Socks         ....       73 

VII. — The  Star  Sapphire     ...      91 

VIII. — The  Young  Man  in  the  Train       103 

IX. — Desiree  Tries  her  Wings        ■  .     118 

X. — Judith  Talks  Nonsense     .         .     130 

XI. — Princess  Pafnuty       .         .         .     140 

XII. — Moon  Magic       .         .         .         .158 

XIII. — The  Seeding  Moment         .         .172 

XIV, — The  God  in  the  Garden    .         .186 

XV. — Intervention      .         .         .         .198 

XVI. — The  Feet  of  Nemesis         .         .     207^ 

XVII. — Clean  Hands      ....     220 


^'i 

Contents 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XVIII.- 

— Leander's  Love 

•          232 

XIX.- 

—Jeremy  on  Rudders   . 

247 

XX.- 

—Amaranth  or  Asphodel?     . 

257 

XXI.- 

—"Life  is  a  Wheel"    . 

264 

XXII.- 

—The  Money  Web 

273 

XXIII.- 

—Lord  Garry  Returns 

285 

XXIV.- 

—Confession          .         .         .         . 

296 

XXV.- 

—"Thou  Shalt  not  Steal!" 

305 

XXVI.- 

—Leander's  Wings 

313 

XXVII.- 

—Jeremy  is  Tested 

322 

XXVIII.- 

—The  Veiled  Friend    . 

334 

The  Beloved  Sinner 


The  Beloved   Sinner 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    COLOUR    OF    MARRIAGE 

"And  what  have  you  been  doing  with  yourself 
since  last  we  saw  you,  Ludlow  ?"  asked  Lady  Brigid 
in  her  soft  voice. 

It  was  her  invariable  prelude  to  conversation 
with  her  old  friend  and  kinsman,  Lord  Garry,  and 
she  never  knew  to  what  whimsicality  it  might  be  the 
key.  Like  him  she  possessed  that  unconquerable 
light-heartedness  of  the  Celt,  which  is  oblivious  of 
the  burden  of  years,  and  responds  to  the  touch  of 
humour  even  through  a  mist  of  tears :  though  tears 
were  far  enough  from  Lady  Brigid's  blue  eyes  at 
the  present  moment. 

Lord  Garry,  thin,  clean-shaven,  and  rather 
withered  from  his  earlier  comeliness  by  the  frost 
of  the  approaching  sixties,  looked  around  the  table 
before  he  answered. 

He  liked  lunching  at  Bressy  Rectory.  Its  fine 
simplicity,  its  harmony,  the  warmth  of  his  welcome 


2  The  Beloved  Sinner 

always  appealed  to  some  inner  sense  of  well-being. 
He  said  he  enjoyed  his  visits  because  the  Hasards 
were  so  delightfully  unparochial  and  never  insisted 
upon  his  having  a  spiritual  spring-cleaning;  but 
the  reason  went  deeper  than  that:  deep  as  the 
rare  refreshment  of  sympathetic  understanding. 

His  glance  brushed  past  his  host,  the  Rev.  Noel 
Hasard — a  man  of  sixty-two,  with  the  face  of  a 
saint  and  the  figure  of  a  sinner,  or  rather  of  a  man 
who  wore  his  shabby,  well-cut  clothes  with  an  air 
that  was  far  removed  from  the  ascetic — and  rested 
upon  the  tilted  profile  of  his  goddaughter,  Desiree, 
the  only  child  of  a  belated  marriage.  Paradoxical 
offspring  of  a  saint  and  an  angel,  she  owned  no 
nimbus  other  than  her  own  aureole  of  hair,  no 
wings  but  those  of  mounting  youth,  eager  for 
flight.  No  classic  perfection  of  feature  was  hers, 
yet  with  her  apple-blossom  colouring  and  fineness 
of  texture  she  produced  an  effect  of  radiancy,  of 
exquisite  finish  which  carried  her  far  beyond  the 
attainment  of  mere  prettiness.  Her  eyes  were  as 
blue  as  her  mother's,  but  they  sparkled  where  the 
older  woman's  softened  to  tenderness.  The  sight 
of  her  young  freshness  among  these  three  elderly 
people  brought  similes  flocking  to  Lord  Garry's 
mind :  a  daffodil  springing  through  brown  bracken, 
a  crescent  moon  among  clouds,  a  silver  birch  in  an 
oak  wood.  .  .  . 

Desiree  was  looking  out  of  the  window  at  two 
puppies  rolling  on  the  lawn,  taking  no  notice  of 
her  godfather  for  once.    This  must  not  be.    He 


The  Colour  of  Marriage  3 

would  make  her  turn  round.  She  always  amused 
him,  this  charming  child,  whose  temperament 
harmonized  so  well  with  his  own  pleasant  world- 
liness. 

"What  have  I  been  doing?"  he  echoed.  "I 
have  been  studying  the  colours  of  marriage. " 

His  object  was  at  once  achieved.  Desir^e 
flashed  round,  all  vivacious  interest. 

"The  colours  of  marriage!  Mother,  what  does 
he  mean?" 

Lady  Brigid  shook  her  head.  Her  grey  hair  was 
as  fluffy  as  the  girl's  sunny  locks.  .  .  .  "Far  too 
frivolous  for  an  old  woman  like  me,"  she  often 
declared,  "but  I  can't  keep  it  tidy!  ..."  Her 
eyes  twinkled.  Quick  as  she  usually  was  to  follow 
Lord  Garry's  flights  of  fancy  his  meaning  eluded 
her  now. 

"I  haven't  an  idea,"  she  declared.  "Suppose 
you  enlighten  us,  Ludlow." 

"I  have  discovered  that  marriages  are  of  three 
distinct  colours,  purple,  orange,  and  green." 

"This  sounds  deliciously  mad,"  cried  Desiree. 
"Please  expound. " 

"We'll  take  the  most  common  colour  first, 
purple — where  the  wife  rules,"  he  said,  with  a 
whimsical  glance  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

"Ludlow,  do  you  mean ?" 

"Fit  caps  for  yourself!" 

"But  why  purple?"  asked  Desiree. 

"Because  you  can  so  plainly  see  that  there  are 
two  colours  in  purple.    You  can  unmistakably 


4  The  Beloved  Sinner 

trace  the  influence  of  the  blue  upon  the  red.  Then 
there  is  the  orange  marriage,  where  the  husband 
rules.  Here  you  have  the  indubitable  domination 
of  the  red  over  the  yellow.  Finally,  there  is  the 
green  marriage,  the  perfect  marriage,  where  the 
colours  are  so  absolutely  blended  into  one  that  you 
would  never  suspect  that  it  was  composed  of  the 
apparently  conflicting  elements  of  blue  and  yellow ! 
But  such  marriages,  my  dear  Dede,  are  only  to  be 
found  in  the  heaven  where  the  others  are  presum- 
ably made!" 

He  glanced  at  Lady  Brigid  again,  but  this  time 
she  had  no  eyes  for  him.  She  was  looking  across 
the  table  at  her  husband.  Surely  Ludlow  had  not 
meant  that  theirs  was  anything  but  a  green  mar- 
riage— that  she  ruled !    Absurd ! 

"Presumptuous  woman!  What  colour  is  your 
marriage,  Hasard?" 

The  Rector  brought  himself  back  from  some  far 
plane  of  thought  with  an  obvious  effort. 

"I'm  afraid  I  was  guilty  of  inattention.  I 
thought  that  you  were  talking  nonsense  to  Dede. 
Was  there  a  substratum  of  sense  in  what  you  were 
saying?    If  so  I  apologize. " 

Lord  Garry  appealed  to  Desir6e.  "Was  there, 
Dede?" 

"Heaven  forfend!"  she  cried,  laughing,  and 
making  the  signs  of  the  horns,  a  trick  she  had 
picked  up  long  ago  from  him. 

"I  thought  it  was  a  beautiful  idea,"  said  Lady 
Brigid  softly. 


The  Colour  of  Marriage  5 

* '  But,  dearest,  you're  a  hopeless  sentimentalist, " 
said  Desiree.  Then,  before  her  mother  had  any 
idea  of  what  was  coming,  she  leaned  across  the  table 
to  Lord  Garry.  "What  colour  was  your  mar- 
riage?" she  asked  lightly. 

Lady  Brigid  bit  her  lip.  In  all  her  years  of 
friendship  she  had  never  touched  where  her  child 
thrust  so  carelessly  now.  Reticent  herself,  in  spite 
of  her  apparent  frankness,  delicacy  had  always 
held  curiosity  at  bay  the  while  her  sympathy  was 
given  generously,  but  in  silence.  Yet  Lord  Garry's 
unfortunate  venture  was  ancient  history  now. 
Mention  of  it  could  scarcely  hurt,  though  as  a 
topic  of  conversation  it  might  creak  a  little  for 
want  of  use. 

To  her  relief  he  answered  without  a  perceptible 
pause. 

"My  marriage  was  kaleidoscopic,  D6de.  Every 
colour  of  the  rainbow.  You  see,  I  made  the  mis- 
take of  marrying  a  tornado.  One  gets  rather  bat- 
tered when  one  tries  to  go  through  life  with  a 
tornado."  He  smiled  reminiscently.  "Never 
marry  a  tornado,  my  child.  " 

"I'd  rather  marry  a  tornado  than  a  turnip!" 

"There  is  a  wide  range  of  choice  between  the 
two.  Still,  even  if  there  were  not,  I  should  be 
inclined  to  lean  towards  the  turnip.  But  that's 
the  advice  of  age,"  he  said  tolerantly.  "One 
can  scarcely  expect  Sweet  and  Twenty  to  subscribe 
to  it." 

"I'd  rather  be  whirled  to  pieces  than  die  of  stag- 


6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

nation!"     Sweet  and  Twenty  hoisted  her  colours. 

"Well,  one  need  never  rust  out.  Life  offers 
an  unfailing  supply  of  sand-paper.  Keep  your 
interests  well  polished  and  you'll  never  die  of  stag- 
nation, Dede. " 

Desiree  smiled.  The  advice  seemed  superfluous 
to  one  who  flourished  the  bright  sword  of  Youth  as 
yet  undimmed  by  Time. 

"It's  rather  an  achievement  to  be  able  to  talk 
nonsense  at  fifty-nine,  isn't  it,  Hasard?" 

"It's  a  sign  of  incurable  light-heartedness,  at 
any  rate,"  replied  the  Rector  dreamily. 

"If  only  you'd  come  down  out  of  the  clouds  and 
talk  nonsense  too,  Daddy,  it  would  do  you  a  world 
of  good, ' '  put  in  Desiree.  ' '  What  particular  cloud 
are  you  hiding  your  head  in  now?  But  I  needn't 
ask.  It's  the  Lady  Chapel,  of  course.  Am  I 
right?" 

"Quite  right,"  her  father  answered  with  an 
indulgent  smile. 

Suddenly  as  the  sun  breaks  through  clouds  his 
face  became  irradiated.  His  tone  changed  from 
gentle  half -interest  to  the  ring  of  enthusiasm  as  he 
turned  towards  his  guest,  who  was  also  his  fellow- 
trustee,  and  spoke  of  the  subject  nearest  his  heart, 
the  restoration  to  its  former  glories  of  St.  Osyth's, 
the  ancient  church  he  served. 

The  subject  lay  near  Lord  Garry's  heart  also, 
but  with  him  it  was  only  one  of  many  interests, 
whereas  with  the  Rector  it  had  become  an  ideal, 
almost  an  obsession,  to  which  all  the  time  and  more 


The  Colour  of  Marriage  7 

than  all  the  money  he  could  legitimately  spare 
were  devoted. 

"You  will  see  strides  since  the  last  time  you 
were  here,  Garry.  That  young  fellow,  Wing,  is  a 
genius.  His  carving  for  the  ceiling,  his  designs 
for  the  screen — but  you  must  judge  for  yourself. 
I  am  afraid  of  saying  too  much. " 

"Did  Daddy  tell  you  of  the  discovery  of  the 
fresco?"  asked  Desiree,  who  did  not  like  to  be  left 
long  out  of  any  conversation. 

"That  was  the  chief  reason  for  my  visit  today. " 

"Then  I  wish  frescoes  could  be  discovered  once 
a  week!" 

Her  father  broke  in  upon  the  pretty  speech. 

' '  It's  wonderful,  Garry.  You  can  imagine  what 
I  felt  when  we  began  to  remove  the  whitewash 
and  saw  the  indications  of  colour.  Wing  says 
that  it  depicts  the  Virgin  taking  souls  out  of 
Purgatory ' ' 

' '  Purgatory  being  represented  by  a  sort  of  oven 
and  the  souls  by  little  whitish  things  like  loaves  of 
bread,  "  Desiree  put  in. 

"Child,  have  you  no  imagination,  no  rever- 
ence?" cried  her  father,  stung  to  an  unwonted 
sharpness  of  tone. 

"Plenty  of  both,  Daddy  dear,  but  that's  really 
what  they're  like!" 

"You  are  not  thinking  of  having  it  restored, 
Hasard?"  Lord  Garry  said. 

The  Rector  shook  his  head  dubiously. 

"Not  unless  we  can  find  a  man  who  is  so  thor- 


8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

oughly  imbued  with  the  mediaeval  spirit  that  he  can 
absolutely  reproduce  the  essence  of  the  original. ' ' 

"The  Dodo  is  an  extinct  bird,  my  friend,  and 
painters  whose  spirit  of  mediaevalism  is  anything 
but  a  carefully  acquired  pose  are  even  rarer  than 
that  estimable  creature.  Besides  we  must  not 
leap  too  far  ahead.  The  restoration  of  the  Lady 
Chapel  will  take  all  our  available  funds.  I  doubt 
if  we  shall  have  enough  money  even  to  run  to  the 
screen  at  present. " 

"Materialist!  You  have  no  faith!  'All  things 
are  possible  to  him  who  believes:  they  are  less 
difficult  to  him  who  hopes;  they  are  easy  to  him 
who  loves!'"  Noel  Hasard's  smile  was  very 
winning.  "I  have  set  my  heart  on  that  screen. 
It  will  be  an  exquisite  thing,  the  crowning  glory 
of  the  Chapel.  The  money  will  be  forthcoming  in 
due  time.  If  not  I  shall  make  myself  personally 
responsible  for  it."  He  spoke  with  a  gentle 
authority  which  waved  aside  remonstrance. 

Lady  Brigid  stifled  a  sigh  and  checked  a  move- 
ment which,  slight  as  it  was,  caught  her  husband's 
eyes, 

"Et  tu,  Brigida?  Have  you  not  yet  learned 
the  faith  of  the  lilies  of  the  field  ?  Think  how  the 
Restoration  Fund  has  grown !  Do  you  remember 
the  state  of  things  when  we  first  came  here,  twenty- 
odd  years  ago?  Look  at  the  church  now  in  com- 
parison with  what  it  was  then,  and  say,  if  you  can, 
that  our  faith  in  continuing  its  beautification  was 
not  justified  ? " 


The  Colour  of  Marriage  9 

How  could  she  damp  the  ardour  of  his  enthu- 
siasm ?  How  hint  that  the  HHes  of  the  field  had  no 
houses  to  run  or  tradesmen's  books  to  pay,  that 
the  necessary  money  did  not  fall  upon  her  as 
the  gentle  dew  from  heaven?  .  .  .  Obtrusive 
facts  which  saints  are  apt  to  ignore.  With  all  her 
heart  she  envied  the  lilies  of  the  field,  although  it 
was  out  of  her  power  to  emulate  them. 

"Your  efforts  and  Ludlow's, "  she  began. 

"A  working  combination  of  flesh  and  spirit," 
said  Lord  Garry  drily. 

"More  useful  than  St.  Paul  would  have  ad- 
mitted, "  declared  the  Rector  with  a  smile. 

The  friendship  between  the  two  men,  in  many 
points  so  dissimilar,  was  tempered  with  quali- 
fications on  either  side.  On  points  where  their 
temperaments  did  not  harmonize  they  set  up  a  deli- 
cate vibration  of  discord  which  each  fondly  hoped 
was  imperceptible  to  the  other,  and  which  neither 
suspected  Lady  Brigid  of  discerning. 

She  rose  now.     "Will  you  say  grace,  Noel?" 

The  Rector  uttered  a  Latin  benediction  in  his 
beautiful  voice. 

"Are  you  coming  with  us  to  the  study,  dear?  I 
want  to  show  Garry  the  designs  for  the  screen 
before  I  take  him  down  to  the  church. " 

Lady  Brigid  shook  her  head.  At  that  moment 
she  could  not  simulate  enthusiasm  for  the  proposed 
screen.     "I  haven't  time  just  now. " 

Desiree  slipped  her  hand  through  her  mother's 
arm  as  they  left  the  dining-room. 


10  The  Beloved  Sinner 

*'I  want  to  talk  to  you,"  she  said  coaxingly. 
*' About  a  letter  I've  just  had — most  exciting! 
It  came  by  the  second  post.  I've  been  thinking 
about  it  all  lunch-time. " 

' '  Have  you,  my  chicken  ? "  Lady  Brigid  smiled 
down  into  the  vivid  face  upturned  to  hers,  though  a 
quick  pang  pricked  her.  Ever  since  Desiree  had 
grown  up  her  mother's  heart  had  held  a  vision  of 
the  man  who  was  to  steal  her  treasure  from  her. 
Anything  unknown  might  be  the  pillar  of  cloud 
which  so  far  hid  him  from  view.  She  tried  to 
pierce  it  now,  but  read  in  Desiree's  face  no  more 
unwonted  emotion  than  pleased  excitement,  no 
more  agitation  than  a  faint  tremor  of  uncertainty. 

"The  heavenliest  plan,  mother!"  The  girl 
squeezed  her  arm. 

"Come  into  my  den  and  tell  me  all  about  it. " 


CHAPTER  II 
desir6e  demands  the  impossible 

Bressy  Rectory  had  once  been  the  Manor 
House:  a  place  of  warm,  creeper-covered  brick 
and  muUioned  windows; — a  house  which  had 
preserved  its  charm  throughout  the  alterations 
of  its  many  inhabitants,  indications  of  individual 
taste  which  time  had  mellowed  to  a  harmonious 
whole. 

Lady  Brigid  loved  every  winding  passage, 
every  unexpected  turn  and  twist  in  it,  but  most 
of  all  she  loved  her  garden:  and  of  all  parts  of 
that  beloved  pleasaimce  the  Yew  Garden,  on 
which  her  den  opened,  was  nearest  her  heart. 

The  room  itself  was  but  a  white- walled  slip, 
with  deep  blue  curtains  framing  the  French  win- 
dow that  gave  on  to  the  plot.  A  thick  yew  hedge 
enfolded  a  square  of  vivid  green  lawn  on  which 
stood  in  quaint  array  a  set  of  chessmen  cut  in  yew. 
In  the  centre  of  the  plot  some  former  occupant  had 
sunk  a  round  stone-bordered  lily-pond,  in  which 
fat  golden  carp  swam  lazily  beneath  the  floating 
leaves.  Deep  apertures  cut  in  the  blackness  of 
the  hedge  gave  glimpses  of  the  flowered  loveliness 


12  The  Beloved  Sinner 

of  the  greater  garden  beyond.  In  the  crevices  of 
the  flagged  paths  grew  many  varieties  of  creeping 
thyme,  grey,  lemon,  variegated,  "to  perfume 
the  aire  most  deHghtfuUy  when  you  walke  or 
tread" — as  a  great  garden-lover  once  said. 

Old-fashioned,  sweet-scented  flowers  grew  in  the 
borders  by  the  house.  Roses,  as  yet  but  pink 
promises  in  folded  buds,  rioted  up  the  walls,  and 
peeped  in  at  the  windows :  great  bushes  of  lavender 
and  lemon-scented  verbena  stood  at  either  side  of 
the  steps. 

Desiree  thought  the  Yew  Garden  gloomy,  but 
Lady  Brigid  loved  it  with  an  intensity  which  was 
of  the  very  fibre  of  her  being.  The  quaint  black 
trees  against  the  living  green  of  the  turf,  stand- 
ing today  as  they  had  stood  for  so  many  years, 
untouched,  unmoved  by  the  centuries,  gave  her  a 
sense  of  peaceful  stability  which  her  daily  life  often 
lacked.  It  was  a  delight  to  rest  her  eyes  upon  their 
changeless  formality,  to  smell  the  incense  of  the 
thyme-scented  paths  after  rain ;  to  gamer  the 
gracious  memories  which  every  well-loved  flower 
in  the  glowing  borders  evoked. 

The  room  itself  was  sparsely  furnished  with  an 
old  oak  desk,  a  chair  or  two,  a  bookshelf,  filled  for 
the  most  part  with  volumes  of  garden  lore,  and  a 
table, — shrine  which  held  the  portraits  of  the  two 
she  loved  most,  husband  and  child, — the  latter  at 
every  age  and  stage  from  infancy  to  womanhood. 

Womanhood !  The  realization  had  given  her  a 
little  shock.    Yes,  her  treasure  was  a  woman  now, 


Desir^e  Demands  the  Impossible    13 

almost  twenty-one,  with  thoughts,  secrets,  aspira- 
tions, which  she  could  not  be  sure  that  she  shared. 
She  often  thought  of  the  days  when  she  was 
everything  to  her,  her  arms  the  refuge  from  every 
passing  trouble :  thought,  a  little  wistfully,  of  the 
gulf  fixed  between  the  generations  which  only  the 
bridge  of  a  great  love  can  span.  Surely  that  love 
was  hers.  She  was  blest  beyond  most  women  in 
the  dower  the  years  had  brought  her.  Love  had 
come  to  her  late  in  life, — she  had  been  thirty-five 
when  she  married, — but  it  had  come  in  good 
measure,  pressed  down,  and  running  over.  "O  ye 
of  little  faith !"  .  .  .  What  did  the  petty  nagging 
worries  of  every  day  matter  in  comparison  ?  What 
did  anything  mundane  matter?  .  .  . 

From  force  of  habit  she  took  the  chair  at  the 
desk.  Desiree  drew  up  a  stool  and  sat  at  her  feet, 
resting  her  bright  head  for  a  moment  against  her 
knee.  Lady  Brigid's  eyes  grew  misty  as  she  looked 
down  at  the  sunny  hair,  so  exquisitely  cared  for. 
Her  darling!  Her  only  one!  There  was  nothing 
that  she  would  not  sacrifice  for  this  treasure  of  her 
later  years. 

"From  whom  was  your  letter,  Dede?" 

Desiree  sat  up,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  excite- 
ment, her  hands  clasped  round  her  knees,  her  words 
tumbling  over  each  other. 

"From  Judy.  Great  news,  mother!  Jill  is 
going  to  be  married  in  July  to  a  Captain  Talbot,  a 
man  in  the  Guards.  She  wants  me  to  be  brides- 
maid, and  Aunt  Monica's  going  to  give  me  my 


14  The  Beloved  Sinner 

frock,  but  that's  not  all.  Judy  has  an  entrancing 
scheme.  She  says  that  as  Jill  is  going  to  chuck 
the  season  and  go  down  to  Suffolk  to  stay  with  her 
man's  people  she  wants  me  to  take  her  place!  To 
stay  in  Town  with  them  until  they  go  back  to 
Frayne !   To  have  a  London  season !   Oh,  mother ! " 

"Oh,  daughter!"  mocked  Lady  Brigid  gently. 
"One  thing  at  a  time.  Tell  me  about  Jill*s  man 
first." 

"That's  the  least  important — to  us,  at  any 
rate,"  Desiree  declared.  "Here's  Judy's  letter. 
Read  it  for  yourself.  She  says  Aunt  Monica's 
writing  to  you.  But  you  know  Aunt  Monica! 
It  may  be  weeks  before  you  hear!" 

"It  may  indeed. "  Lady  Brigid's  heart  sank  a 
little  as  she  took  her  niece's  letter  and  read  slowly 
through  its  tumbling  incoherencies. 

Her  only  sister,  Monica,  had  married  money 
when  she  married  John  Bland,  a  sporting  country 
squire,  whose  motto,  "Live  and  let  live,"  was 
applied  to  everything  except  game  and  foxes! 
Desiree  and  her  cousins,  Gillian  and  Judith,  had 
always  been  friends.  She  was  glad  that  it  had 
been  so,  as  the  girl  had  not  much  young  companion- 
ship in  Bressy;  but  visits  to  Frayne  were  expen- 
sive. She  could  not  bear  that  Desir6e  should  lack 
anything  that  other  girls  of  her  age  and  class 
possessed:  and  in  spite  of  her  husband's  dictum, 
no  matter  how  much  faith  she  had  it  would  not 
clothe  her  child  like  the  lilies  of  the  field  unless 
she  had  the  money  to  pay  for  the  petals  withal! 


Desiree  Demands  the  Impossible    15 

This  sordid  question  of  money,  how  it  crept  into 
and  tainted  everything !  One  seemed  never  to  get 
away  from  it. 

Desiree  watched  her  mother's  troubled  face  and 
put  up  a  finger  to  smooth  away  the  frown  that 
drew  her  brows  together. 

"What  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Frocks  and  frills,"  answered  Lady  Brigid 
dubiously. 

"Frocks  and  frills!"  the  girl  echoed  in  quite  a 
different  tone,  young,  desirous,  ardent. 

Lady  Brigid  forced  a  smile. 

"How  is  the  exchequer?" 

Desiree  gave  a  little  shrug  and  spread  out  her 
hands  with  a  pretty,  hopeless  gesture.  "About 
as  low  as  the  Restoration  Fund  will  be  when  Daddy 
has  paid  for  that  beloved  screen  of  his. " 

"Ah,  that  screen ! "     Lady  Brigid  bit  her  lip. 

She  was  too  loyal  to  her  husband  to  say  more, 
yet  sometimes  she  felt  as  if  the  old  church,  growing 
day  by  day  towards  its  ancient  beauty,  were  some 
grim  inexorable  fetish  to  which  the  needs  of  daily 
life,  her  husband's,  her  child's,  her  own,  were 
being  continually  sacrificed.  None  ever  guessed 
at  the  iconoclastic  fury  that  sometimes  swelled 
beneath  her  outward  gentleness.  Yet  she  loved 
St.  Osyth's,  too,  and  would  have  rejoiced  in  its 
beautifying  as  Noel  did  if  only —  She  stifled  the 
thought. 

' '  I  shan 't  want  much, ' '  Desiree  pursued.  ' '  You 
know  my  tastes  are  simple. " 


i6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Yes,  but  of  a  costly  simplicity,  my  dearest. " 

"It  pays  best  in  the  end  to  have  the  best, "  said 
Desiree  airily.  "What  a  tiresome  thing  money 
is !  Why  aren't  we  rich  ?  But  you  always  manage 
so  wonderfully !  Let  me  have  a  little  to  go  on  with, 
and  I'll  pay  the  rest  out  of  my  allowance.  You 
can  advance  me  the  June  quarter,  which  will  be 
due  next  month. " 

"Yes,  it  will  be  due  next  month,"  said  Lady 
Brigid  slowly.  Two  bright  spots  burned  in  her 
cheeks.  It  hurt  her  to  deny  Desir6e  anything. 
She  touched  her  curls  half -tenderly,  half -absently. 

Desiree  caught  the  straying  fingers  and  kissed 
them.     She  had  as  many  pretty  ways  as  a  kitten. 

"You're  nerving  yourself  to  say  something 
horrid,  darling, "  she  cried.  "Not  that  I  can't  go. 
Oh,  don't  say  that,  mother. " 

"No,  I  won't  say  that.  We  must  manage  the 
Frayne  visit,  however  it's  done.  But  even  part 
of  the  season  in  Town  ?  .  .  .  You'd  have  to  be 
decently  turned  out,  Dede.  You'd  want  frocks 
of  all  sorts,  and  more  than  frocks. "  Lady  Brigid 
shook  her  head,  while  the  spots  on  her  cheeks 
deepened.  "It  can't  be  done,  belovedest.  Quite 
impossible." 

Desiree  rubbed  her  soft  cheek  against  her 
mother's  hand.  "Yet  I've  heard  you  say  before 
that  things  were  impossible — things  which  were 
done  afterwards.  Couldn't  this  be  one  of  the 
impossibly  possible  things  ? ' '  Her  voice  was  honey- 
sweet  in  its  coaxing. 


Desir^e  Demands  the  Impossible    17 

At  all  times  it  was  one  of  the  girl's  charms,  but 
when  it  melted  as  it  did  now,  who  could  resist  her  ? 
Not  the  fond  mother-heart  that  only  longed  to 
yield. 

"No,  no.  At  least  I  don't  think  so.  No,  it 
can't  be  managed.  .  .  .  Oh,  D6de,  how  weak  I  am 
where  you  are  concerned!"  There  was  a  ring  of 
pain  in  the  cry  which  struck  no  echo  from  Desiree's 
excitement. 

"Go  on  being  weak,  dearest,  if  that's  what 
weakness  means.  Don't  be  strong  and  horrid 
and  unapproachable.  Let  me  have  a  darling 
mother  who's  always  achieving  the  impossible. 
Hush!  Don't  say  no.  Think  it  over,  and  we'll 
plan  a  lovely  outfit  that  won't  cost  twopence- 
farthing!" 

Lady  Brigid  smiled  in  spite  of  herself.  "I 
think  I  see  you  in  an  outfit  costing  twopence- 
farthing!  We'll  plan  for  Frayne  at  present,  if 
you  please. " 

"Not  for  Town?" 

"Not  for  Town,"  answered  Lady  Brigid  in  as 
adamantine  a  tone  as  she  could  assume,  quite 
spoiling  its  effect  by  adding  as  she  saw  the  cloud- 
ing of  Desiree's  brightness — "at  present." 

Desir6e  threw  her  arms  round  her.  "You 
darling!  You  will!  I  know  you  will!  You'll 
achieve  the  impossible  as  usual. " 

Lady  Brigid  held  her  a  little  away  and  looked 
intently  into  the  dark  blue  eyes  so  like  her  own. 

"Desir^e,    has   it    ever   struck   you    that    the 


i8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

impossible  is  only  attained  at  a  cost,  and  that  that 
cost  has  to  be  counted  some  day  ?  The  time  may 
come  when  you  will  wish  that  I  had  been  strong 
instead  of  weak,  when  you  will  regret " 

"Never,  never!"  Desiree  interrupted.  "There 
is  no  weakness  in  letting  me  have  such  a  chance  as 
this.  Just  think  what  it  means !  What  a  wonderful 
chance  for  me  to  see  the  world  as  other  girls  see  it ! 
I  know  you  will.  'Yes'  is  peeping  out  of  your 
eyes,  though  you  won't  let  your  lips  say  it !  .  .  . 
Oh,  darling,  I  want  to  dance  and  shout  for  joy ! 
I  know  what  the  morning  stars  felt  when  they  sang 
together!" 

"All  because  you're  going  away  for  a  little. 
Ungrateful  child!" 

"You  know  it's  not  that.  You  know  I'm  quite 
happy  here,  but " 

"There  always  is  a  but,  isn't  there?" 

"A  sort  of  but.  The  spring  makes  one  restless, 
doesn't  it?" 

"Has  it  made  you  restless?" 

"Oh,  not  particularly."  Desiree  shied  away 
from  the  faintest  suggestion  of  the  probe  with  the 
queer  reticence  of  youth.  "Mother,  you'll  lend 
me  your  pearls,  won't  you?" 

"Of  course;  and  I'll  give  you  my  Limerick  lace. 
Mrs.  Brabazon  ought  to  be  able  to  make  something 
fairy -like  of  that.  " 

"Oh,  you  darling!  I  love  that  lace.  It's 
made  of  October  gossamer.  .  .  .  What  a  blessing 
that  there  is  such  a  clever  dressmaker  as  Mrs. 


Desiree  Demands  the  Impossible    19 

Brabazon  at  Churchampton.  She's  awfully  de- 
cent, too.     She  gets  me  anything  I  want. " 

"Yes,  she's  an  obliging  creature,"  returned 
Lady  Brigid  absently.  '  *  She  never  forgets  that  I 
have  brought  her  a  good  deal  of  custom.  I  hope 
you  don't  keep  her  too  long  out  of  her  money, 
Dede.  A  woman  like  that  has  to  pay  her  work- 
girls,  and  probably  doesn't  get  long  credit  from 
shops." 

"What's  long  credit?"  D6de  asked  airily. 
"How  clever  of  you  to  know  all  these  things,  dar- 
ling! .  .  .  She  had  some  fascinating  cr^pe-de- 
chine  blouses  the  last  time  I  was  there,  but  I  didn't 
dare  ...  I  was  too  rocky !  Now  we  may  expand 
a  little,  mayn't  we?  Especially  as  Aunt  Monica 
says  she'll  be  responsible  for  my  bridesmaid's 
frock.  I  wonder  what  it  will  be.  .  .  .  I  must  go 
and  overhaul  my  rags.     Are  you  coming?" 

"Presently."  Lady  Brigid's  tone  was  still 
absent.  Her  mind  was  working  busily  and  the  red 
spots  were  beginning  to  fade  from  her  cheeks, 
making  her  look  paler  than  her  wont.  "I  must 
first " 

"Manage  the  impossible?" 

"Persistent  child!  .  .  .  Lineal  descendant  of 
the  importunate  widow!  First  cousin  of  the 
daughter  of  the  horse-leech,  run  away,  and  play!" 

"I'm  just  going  to,  but  I  must  have  that  dress- 
parade  first." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  this  afternoon?  I 
know  you  told  me,  but  I've  forgotten." 


20  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"The  Howards  are  having  tennis,  just  a  prac- 
tice. They've  invited  Mr.  Wing,  too.  They've 
rather  taken  him  up.  I  think  Molly  admires 
him.  .  .  .  Mother," — she  paused  at  the  door  to 
ask  the  question, — "what  do  you  think  of  him?" 

"Of  Mr.  Wing?  I  don't  know  that  I  have  ever 
thought  about  him."  Lady  Brigid's  tone  re- 
moved Leander  Wing  to  some  far  distant  plane. 
' '  I  have  seen  him  only  through  your  father's  eyes 
as  a  young  man  of  great  talent,  if  not  genius.  .  .  . 
He  seems  a  quiet  youth,  rather  untidy  .  .  .  with  a 
wild  eye, "  she  went  on,  in  the  manner  of  one  mak- 
ing discoveries.  "Why,  what  do  you  think  of 
him?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  He  gives  me  the  im- 
pression of  something  on  a  leash,  ...  I  agree 
with  you,  he  has  a  wild  eye.  .  .  .  Don't  be  long, 
dearest.  If  you  don't  come  up  soon  you'll  find  me 
making  a  bonfire  of  all  my  old  clothes! " 

She  ran  off,  closing  the  door,  with  a  little  bang  of 
joy,  behind  her.  It  seemed  to  her  mother  as  if 
the  sunshine  of  the  day  had  gone  with  her. 

Lady  Brigid  sighed  and  leaned  her  head  on  her 
hand.  She  sent  her  thoughts  back  to  the  past, 
to  the  beginning  of  life  in  middle  life  for  herself, 
when  Noel  Hasard  had  come  unexpectedly  upon 
her  horizon  and  wooed  and  won  her  after  a  brief 
and  surprising  courtship. 

It  had  been  what  the  outside  world  would  have 
called  a  grey  romance,  but  to  her  it  was  shot  with 
every  colour  of  the  rainbow.     Her  childhood,  her 


Desir^e  Demands  the  Impossible    21 

girlhood,  had  indeed  been  dull  and  colourless. 
Her  mother  she  scarcely  remembered,  and  her 
father,  the  Earl  of  Mountmassey,  lived  the  life 
of  a  recluse  among  the  hills  and  bogs  of  his  desolate 
patrimony,  imprisoned  in  the  obsession  of  past 
glories  with  insufficient  means  to  translate  them 
into  terms  of  the  present. 

How  they  had  pinched  and  scraped,  in  spite  of 
their  ancient  title,  until  the  death  of  a  scarcely- 
known  great-aunt  bestowed  freedom  upon  her  and 
her  younger  sister,  Monica,  in  the  shape  of  a  legacy 
of  ten  thousand  pounds  apiece!  What  riches 
it  had  seemed!  Wealth  unbounded!  Her  lips 
twisted  in  a  smile  that  held  an  unwonted  tinge 
of  bitterness  as  she  thought  of  it  now,  likening 
Great-aunt  Judith's  fortune  to  Balzac's  Peau  de 
Chagrin  in  its  capacity  for  dwindling. 

When  first  she  had  married,  her  happiness  had 
seemed  boundless,  overflowing ;  yet  one  more  drop 
had  been  added  by  the  birth  of  Desiree,  the  longed- 
for,  granted  treasure.  She  had  then  been  rich 
indeed.  She  knit  her  brows  in  the  effort  to  recall 
when  exactly  the  first  little  creeping  discomfort 
had  wriggled  its  way  into  her  bliss. 

There  was  no  flaw  in  Noel,  none!  He  was  her 
man,  her  husband,  her  saint,  but — even  her  loyal 
heart  admitted  an  inevitable  "but,"  which  she 
would  never  acknowledge  to  any  one  save  herself. 

Noel  Hasard  had  been  an  ascetic  forty  when 
flesh  and  spirit  were  violently  assailed  by  his  love 
for  Brigid  Massarene.     All  his  life  he  had  held 


22  The  Beloved  Sinner 

strongly  to  the  ideal  of  celibacy,  and  he  had  had 
a  stem  fight  between  principle  and  inclination 
before  he  yielded  finally  to  the  human  claim. 
After  the  calming  satisfaction  of  marriage  the 
saint  slowly  ousted  the  lover.  The  bond  between 
husband  and  wife  grew  daily  more  of  the  spirit,  less 
of  the  flesh.  If  Lady  Brigid  sometimes  sighed  at 
the  gradual  merging  of  man  in  priest  it  was  but  a 
woman's  sigh,  quickly  chidden.  She  had  perforce 
to  stay  in  the  warm  valleys  of  humanity  while 
he  strove  to  attain  the  heights  above.  Was  it 
not  on  her  he  leaned  in  all  material  ways,  to  her 
he  turned  for  all  his  daily  needs  ?  It  was  her  pride 
and  joy  to  keep  his  path  free  from  stones,  to  shed 
the  balm  of  peace  he  craved  around  his  days. 

He  would  still  have  called  himself  an  ascetic. 
Perhaps  in  essentials  he  was  right.  Lord  Garry- 
dubbed  him ' '  A  saint  with  the  tastes  of  a  sybarite ! '  * 
Perhaps  in  essentials  he  was  right  also. 

Noel  Hasard  wore  his  clothes  until  they  were 
really  shabby,  but — they  had  been  cut  by  the  best 
tailor  in  Savile  Row,  a  man  whom  he  had  always 
employed. 

Lady  Brigid  strained  her  eyes  darning  his  un- 
derclothing, but — socks  and  garments  were  always 
of  silk.  This  note  of  expensive  simplicity  sounded 
throughout  his  whole  life. 

A  saint  in  essence,  he  honestly  tried  to  be  an 
ascetic  in  practice,  and  in  so  far  as  being  remote 
from  the  coarser  ways  of  living  he  was  an  ascetic. 
But  of  true  asceticism,  that  rigid  scourging  and 


Desiree  Demands  the  Impossible    23 

stripping  life  bare  of  all  but  the  spiritual,  he  knew 
nothing.  He  was  under  the  impression  that  he 
lived  sparingly  and  economically.  He  would  have 
told  you  that  he  was  practically  a  vegetarian,  that 
all  he  had  for  luncheon  was  an  egg  or  two.  But 
the  vegetables  were  always  of  the  finest  kinds :  his 
palate  shrank  from  the  coarseness  of  cabbage  or 
turnip.  The  eggs  resolved  themselves  into  a 
perfect  omelette  prepared  by  an  expensive  cook. 
He  drank  only  water,  but  a  cup  of  the  rarest  Mocha 
followed  luncheon  and  dinner,  made  exactly  as  he 
liked  it  by  Lady  Brigid  herself. 

With  his  stipend  of  four  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
and  her  income  of  four  hundred  fifty  pounds ,  life  had 
been  easy  enough  in  those  early  days:  but  gradu- 
ally the  spell  of  St.  Osyth's  drew  the  Rector 
closer  and  closer.  More  and  more  of  his  income 
went  towards  the  realization  of  his  ideal,  until  at 
last  the  family  practically  lived  on  Lady  B  rigid 's 
money.  She  had  striven  to  augment  this  legiti- 
mately. She  worked  early  and  late  in  her  garden, 
spurring  the  one  man  the  place  boasted  to  un- 
heard-of efforts.  She  started  keeping  poultry.  .  .  . 
What  whipping  to  energy  of  a  pleasantly  indolent 
temperament  this  had  involved  none  knew  but 
herself.  .  .  . 

Then  had  come  the  question  of  Desiree's  edu- 
cation, followed  by  the  first  nibbling  at  her  capital. 
The  way  once  shown,  the  rest  was  easy.  Money 
was  always  to  be  obtained  by  this  means.  Her 
lawyer,  Mr.  Bamet,  remonstrated  as  much  as  he 


24  The  Beloved  Sinner 

dared,  but  Lady  Brigid  could  assume  at  will  the 
grand  manner  that  forbids  interference.  The 
money  was  absolutely  hers  to  use  as  she  wished. 
He  could  do  no  more  than  protest,  which  he  did 
with  unfailing  regularity  whenever  further  inroads 
were  made. 

The  best  only  was  good  enough  for  Desiree. 
She  had  inherited  her  father's  taste  for  costly 
simplicity.  Had  she  inherited  his  saintly  qualities, 
Lady  Brigid  wondered,  or  was  her  blood  tinged 
with  the  wildness  of  the  Massarenes?  She  did  not 
know.  To  her  Desiree  was  spring  incarnate,  vivid, 
fragrant,  glowing.  Did  one  ask  more  of  early 
girlhood?  Is  it  not  experience  which  avows  the 
deeper  qualities?  She  wanted  her  child  to  enjoy 
to  the  full  all  that  is  the  heritage  of  youth;  the 
dearer,  deeper  things  also  which  she  herself  might 
have  missed  had  it  not  been  for  Ludlow  Garry 
.  .  .  Suddenly  her  thoughts  swung  to  another 
train. 

How  strangely  things  had  fallen  out!  If  Lud- 
low had  not  given  chance  hospitality  to  Noel 
Hasard  in  his  shooting-box  at  the  edge  of  the  bog 
she  and  he  would  never  have  met!  She  would 
have  withered  in  gentle  spinsterhood  at  Mount- 
massey  until  Death,  the  grey-veiled,  summoned 
her  away.  .  .  .  What  a  curious  chance !  Chance  ? 
No!  God,  thought  Lady  Brigid,  in  the  simple 
faith  that  yet  could  not  compass  the  unconcern 
of  the  lilies  of  the  field. 

A  tap  at  the  door  roused  her  from  her  musings. 


Desir^e  Demands  the  Impossible    25 

Sanctuary  was  broken.  She  turned  round  with  a 
little  sigh. 

"What  is  it,  Jane?" 

"Mrs.  Mawson  in  the  drawing-room  to  see  you, 
my  lady." 

"Very  well,  I  shall  be  with  her  in  a  moment. " 

When  the  maid  had  gone  Lady  Brigid  turned  to 
look  at  the  placid  yewkingsand  pawns  and  castles. 
The  May  sunshine  powdered  their  blackness  with 
gold-dust,  and  shone  on  a  gay  flutter  in  the  lily- 
pond,  where  two  blue  tits  splashed  in  a  lily-leaf 
bath,  sending  up  diamond-sparks  of  spray. 

' '  Mrs.  Mawson  and  I  are  no  more  to  my  chess- 
men than  those  tomtits, "  she  thought  to  herself, 
reluctant  to  face  her  visitor.  "Of  all  the  thorns 
ever  devised  by  a  chastening  Providence,  give  me 
a  former  incumbent's  widow!" 


CHAPTER  III 


A   THORN    IN    THE    FLESH 


When  the  Hasards  first  came  to  Bressy,  Lady 
Brigid  felt  a  warm  pity  for  the  childless  widow  who 
was  only  a  few  years  older  than  herself;  but  such 
emotions  became  tinged  with  apprehension  when 
she  learned  that  Mrs.  Mawson  had  taken  a  cottage 
on  the  outskirts  of  Bressy,  not  far  from  the  Rectory 
gates,  and  quite  close  to  the  church.  Delicacy 
made  her  feel  it  an  outrage  that  the  former 
mistress  of  the  Rectory  should  now  squat  humbly 
on  its  very  threshold;  but  her  pangs  were  pity 
wasted. 

The  strategical  position  of  her  cottage  gave 
Mrs.  Mawson  unbounded  pleasure.  Curiosity 
was  her  ruling  passion;  above  all,  curiosity  about 
the  ways  of  her  successors.  Fiercely  she  sought 
for  spots  on  the  sun  of  their  popularity.  There 
would  be  many,  no  doubt.  The  fact  of  Lady 
Brigid's  title  presupposed  "airs,"  and  airs  were 
what  a  plain  woman  like  Mrs.  Mawson  could  not 
stand,  as  she  was  fond  of  saying. 

She  had  married  the  Rev.  Robert  Mawson  for 
his  position,  an  eminence  to  which  she  would  not 

26 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  2^ 

otherwise  have  attained.  This  gained,  she  deter- 
mined to  remain  where  its  height  was  recognized, 
even  after  the  dreamy  personage  who  had  exalted 
her  to  it  slipped  out  of  life  as  quietly  as  he  had 
sauntered  through  it. 

Bressy,  as  a  town,  was  in  a  state  of  flux  at  the 
coming  of  the  Hasards.  Its  interests  had  for 
years  been  purely  agricultural,  and,  like  most  old 
agricultural  towns,  it  had  gradually  decayed. 
The  church,  with  its  ancient  foundation,  was 
neglected  and  semi-ruinous;  only  the  actual  por- 
tion where  service  was  held  being  in  any  real 
state  of  repair.  Robert  Mawson  had  not  cared. 
The  parish  had  not  cared,  the  scattered  gentry  had 
not  cared. 

No  one  had  cared  until  Lord  Garry  succeeded 
his  uncle  at  Bressy  Park,  and  gave  the  living  to  Noel 
Hasard.  It  was  like  the  stirring  of  wind  after  a 
long  interval  of  breathless  weather.  First,  a  faint 
movement  among  the  leaves,  then  little  whirls  of 
the  dust  of  time,  and  finally  a  blowing  away  of 
cobwebs  and  the  deadening  litter  of  years.  Lord 
Garry  interested  himself  in  the  industrial  develop- 
ment of  the  town;  helped  to  revive  its  half-for- 
gotten industries,  to  deepen  the  old  quays  and 
dredge  the  tidal  river  to  allow  coasting-steamers  to 
come  right  up  to  the  mills. 

Noel  Hasard  devoted  himself  to  the  restoration 
of  the  neglected  church  and  the  awakening  of  some 
spiritual  life  in  the  sluggish  spirits  of  his  parish- 
ioners. 


28  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Neither  innovation  pleased  Mrs.  Mawson. 
She  spoke  regretfully  of  the  changes. 

"Ah,  dear,  Bressy  is  terribly  altered  in  these 
days!"  she  would  say  mournfully. 

The  Rector  was,  of  course,  painfully  High 
Church — "almost  a  Roman  Catholic!  Indeed  it 
was  a  wonder  that  he  had  ever  married!" — and 
Lady  Brigid,  in  whom  she  had  failed  to  find  any 
airs,  try  as  she  would,  was  "sadly  worldly  and 
injudicious. " 

Desiree's  appearance  was  another  rock  of 
offence.  "Dressed  like  that!  A  clergyman's 
child.     With  a  French  name,  too!" 

In  fact,  although  she  would  have  been  the  last 
to  admit  it,  the  Rectory  family  and  their  mis- 
doings provided  the  salt  and  savour  of  Mrs.  Maw- 
son's  daily  life.  It  was  delicious  to  be  able  to 
disapprove  so  whole-heartedly  of  almost  every- 
thing they  did,  said,  or  looked,  from  daily  matins 
at  St.  Osyth's  to  Desiree's  black  silk  stockings. 

The  Rectory  stood  in  the  fold  of  a  little  hill  just 
outside  the  town.  With  its  industrial  develop- 
ment Bressy  seemed  to  have  turned  towards  the 
river,  concentrating  itself  there,  and  drawing  away 
a  little,  as  it  were,  from  church  and  house: — a 
partial  isolation  which  was  much  to  the  Hasards' 
taste.  Mrs.  Mawson's  cottage  was  a  connecting 
link  between  Rectory  and  town — a  bond  with 
which  they  would  willingly  have  dispensed. 

Lady  Brigid  dreaded  Mrs.  Mawson's  visits, 
which  were  usually  of  unpleasant  portent;  there 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  29 

was  generally  something  distasteful  which  she 
"thought  it  her  duty  "  to  tell.  Pity  had  long  ago 
chilled  to  a  determined  patience,  which  Lady 
Brigid  strove  to  prevent  from  merging  into  active 
dislike.  Today  she  felt  unusually  reluctant  to 
see  her.  She  shrank  from  the  thought  of  the 
inquisitive  face  with  its  smooth  band  of  hair  looped 
across  the  forehead,  a  loop  which  she  had  seen 
change  from  brown  to  grey,  from  grey  to  white. 

She  spurred  her  unwilling  steps  towards  the 
drawing-room.  It  was  against  her  code  to  keep 
any  visitor  waiting,  however  unwelcome.  Even 
as  she  opened  the  door  she  knew  that  her 
brief  delay  was  being  unfavourably  commented 
upon. 

"Waited  to  change  her  dress!  No,  it  wasn't 
that.  Lord  Garry  lunched  here.  She  must  have 
dressed  before. "  She  read  it  all  in  Mrs.  Mawson's 
twitching  nose  as  she  held  out  her  hand. 

"Ah,  Lady  Brigid,  busy  as  usual!  Which  of 
your  old  women  were  you  pampering  now?" 

"Only  myself,  "  Lady  Brigid  answered  as  pleas- 
antly as  she  could,  motioning  Mrs.  Mawson  to  a 
comfortable  chair.  "I  was  giving  myself  the 
unusual  luxury  of  a  half -hour's  idleness.  " 

"That's  more  than  I  can  do,"  sighed  Mrs. 
Mawson.  "Then  I  need  have  no  qualms  at  dis- 
turbing you. "  She  settled  herself  more  per- 
manently. Lady  Brigid's  spirit  quailed.  Why 
had  she  not  declared  herself  pressed  for  time  ? 

' '  I  just  ran  in  ' '  (her  invariable  formula) ' '  to  know 


30  The  Beloved  Sinner 

if  you  had  heard  about  that  unfortunate  affair  of 
Tom  Herring's?" 

' '  What  affair  ?     I  have  heard  nothing. ' ' 

"Really?  And  you  the  Rector's  wife!  I  won- 
der Mr.  Hasard  didn't  tell  you.  " 

"Perhaps  he  has  not  heard.  What  is  it,  Mrs. 
Mawson?"  Her  heart  sank  still  further  as  she 
scented  trouble  for  her  husband.  Tom  Herring 
was,  she  knew,  rather  a  favourite  of  his :  sang  in  the 
choir,  was  a  regular  attendant  at  the  Bible  Class. 
"What  has  poor  Tom  done?" 

"Stolen  money  out  of  Mr.  Woolridge's  till." 
There  was  an  indescribable  malice  in  the  way 
the  sentence  was  shot  forth.  "Ah,  I  knew  you 
would  be  shocked!  It's  a  wonder  that  Mr.  Has- 
ard's  influence  shouldn't  have  kept  the  boy  straight. 
He  was  by  way  of  being  such  a  model  boy,  too,  was 
Tom.  And  Mr.  Woolridge  is  a  Dissenter.  Looks 
so  badly  for  the  Church,  doesn't  it?" 

' '  Surely  there  is  some  mistake.  There  must  be. 
I  can  scarcely  believe  that  Tom  would  do  such  a 
thing.  His  poor  mother!  .  .  .  He  was  always 
such  a  good  boy.  Why,  I've  known  him  since  he 
was  a  baby." 

"One  might  know  a  murderer  from  his  infancy, 
but  that  wouldn't  prevent  him  from  committing 
the  crime  if  such  wickedness  was  in  him ! "  answered 
Mrs.  Mawson  tartly.  "I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
telling  lies,  Lady  Brigid.  I  had  the  sad  facts 
from  Mr.  Woolridge  himself  when  I  went  in  this 
morning  to  buy  some  tea,  and  missed  Tom  from 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  31 

the  shop.  It's  a  most  unfortunate  occurrence 
altogether.  Such  a  handle  for  the  Dissenters! 
Such  a  slur  on  the  Church!" 

"I  hope  the  Church  is  strong  enough  to  rise 
above  the  slur  of  poor  Tom's  misdemeanours," 
said  Lady  Brigid,  with  dignity.  "Besides, 
I  don't  see  why  the  Dissenters  should  rejoice. 
Has  no  Dissenter  ever  committed  a  sin  of  any 
sort?" 

' '  That's  not  the  point.  They  are  a  self-righteous 
lot.  This  will  make  them  more  set  against  the 
Church  than  ever.  Mr.  Woolridge  is  going  to 
make  a  proper  example  of  Tom,  he  says.  No 
weakness  with  backsliders  for  him!  Oh,  he  was 
very  determined ! ' ' 

"I  hope  he  won't  be  too  hard  on  the  boy.  He  is 
always  so  civil  and  obliging  to  me. " 

"It  pays  to  be  civil  to  people  who  give  ten  and 
sixpence  a  pound  for  their  coffee,"  Mrs.  Mawson 
sniffed. 

Lady  Brigid  ignored  the  challenge.  "I  wonder 
why  Tom  did  it?"  she  mused.  "That  is  if  he 
really " 

"I  tell  you  Mr.  Woolridge  caught  him  red- 
handed.  And  as  to  the  motive,  what  does  that 
matter?  No  one  could  have  a  good  motive  for 
theft.  Sin  is  sin  no  matter  how  you  try  to  gloze  it 
over." 

"I  am  not  trying  to  gloze  it  over,"  said  Lady 
Brigid  slowly.  "I  am  only  wondering,  and  feeling 
very,  very  sorry. " 


32  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I  hope  the  Rector  won't  be  as  deplorably 
lenient  as  you  are. ' ' 

"The  Rector?" 

* '  Mr.  Woolridge  is  going  to  bring  Tom  up  to  him 
this  evening ! ' '  Mrs.  Mawson's  eyes  glistened,  and 
her  nose  twitched  again. 

' '  Oh,  but  must  he  ?  Need  he  ?  It  will  worry  my 
husband  so." 

"What  are  the  clergy  for  but  to  be  worried? 
The  rector  of  a  parish  is  the  fit  and  proper  person  to 
go  to  when  one  of  his  young  men  goes  astray.  I 
hope  Mr.  Hasard  will  be  firm  and  not  make  any 
exception  in  Tom's  favour.  I  wonder  his  influence 
didn't  prevent  the  boy  from  doing  such  a  thing. 
But  there,  I  always  say  no  good  ever  comes  of 
making  favourites  in  that  class.  It  only  turns 
their  heads." 

"You  may  be  quite  sure  that  my  husband  will 
do  whatever  is  right  and  just.  He  is  not  in  the 
habit  of  making  favourites,  and  I  have  never  known 
him  shirk  any  duty,  however  disagreeable. ' '  Lady 
Brigid's  manner  would  have  daunted  any  one  less 
absolutely  self-satisfied  than  her  hearer,  but  Mrs. 
Mawson  had  no  eye  for  a  snub.  ' '  I  merely  wished 
to  spare  him  pain  if  possible.  He  feels  these 
things  so  acutely. " 

"It  does  not  do  to  be  too  thin-skinned  these 
days.  .  .  .  Running  after  girls,  Tom  was.  That 
London  niece  of  the  Boltons', — a  minx  if  ever  there 
was  one, — with  her  high  heels  and  her  hats  cocked 
over  one  eye!     She  doesn't  care  what  man  she 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  33 

goes  with.  Anything  in  trousers  is  good  enough 
for  her!" 

Suddenly  Lady  Brigid  felt  stifled.  Mrs.  Maw- 
son's  atmosphere  seemed  to  poison  the  air  about 
her.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  bear  it  no  longer ;  as  if 
she  must  rid  herself  of  this  gnat -like  cloud  of  petty 
spitefulness  and  relish  of  the  ugly  side  of  life.  She 
had  never  dismissed  her  before.  How  was  she  to 
do  it  now  ?     She  moved  helplessly. 

Mrs.  Mawson  had  no  intention  of  stirring.  She 
was  very  comfortable,  she  had  the  satisfaction  of 
knowing  that  she  had  ruffled  that  well-bred  calm 
of  Lady  Brigid *s,  which  always  annoyed  her,  and 
she  had  still  another  arrow  or  two  in  her  quiver. 

"I  saw  her  talking  to  that  young  man  at  the 
church,"  she  continued  with  a  little  titter.  "By 
the  way,  do  you  know  anything  about  him  ? ' ' 

,"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Wing?" 

"Yes,  of  course.  Outlandish  name !  Whoever 
heard  of  wings,  except  on  birds?" 

"Or  angels!"  said  Lady  Brigid  smiling  in  spite 
of  herself,  though  Mrs.  Mawson  had  not  meant 
to  be  humorous.  "Wingis  quite  a  good  name,  I 
believe.  Personally  I  have  seen  very  little  of  him, 
but  my  husband  is  quite  satisfied  with  his  creden- 
tials.    Why  do  you  ask?" 

Mrs.  Mawson  looked  sly.  "Young  people  will 
be  young  people,  of  course,  but — have  you  ever 
noticed  the  way  he  looks  at  Desiree  in  church?" 

Lady  Brigid's  temper  was  quick  in  spite  of  years 
of  self-control.     A  little  flame  spurted  up  now. 


34  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I  go  to  church  for  other  purposes  than  to 
watch  my  neighbours,"  she  answered  warmly. 
"I  should  hope  you  did,  too,  Mrs.  Mawson." 
Then  she  calmed  a  little.  "Mr.  Wing  is  an  artist. 
If  he  does  look  at  Desiree  it  is  because  she  is  good 
to  look  at." 

"Ah,  you  take  such  lenient  views, "  Mrs.  Maw- 
son said  hastily.  "But  there  are  looks,  and 
looks." 

Lady  Brigid  could  stand  no  more.  She  rose. 
She  was  very  angry. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  a  connoisseur  in  looks,  "  she 
said.  "It  is  nothing  to  me  whom  Mr.  Wing 
honours  with  his  regard,  but  I  must  ask  you 
kindly  to  refrain  from  coupling  his  name  with  my 
daughter's." 

Mrs.  Mawson  rose,  too,  with  obvious  reluctance. 
She  might  have  known  that  any  mention  of  Desiree 
was  treading  on  delicate  ground,  but  malice 
sometimes  pricked  her  to  indiscretion. 

"Ah,  the  ewe  lamb!  Certainly,  certainly.  No 
doubt  Desiree  will  look  higher  than  a  common 
artist,  though  he  may  do  well  enough  to  amuse 
herself  with  for  a  while.  Girls  will  be  girls  and 
boys,  boys!  ...  I  saw  him  hurrying  along  the 
road  with  a  tennis  racquet  in  his  hand  as  I  was 
coming  in.  There's  a  tennis  practice  at  the  Croft 
today.     Is  Desiree  going?" 

"She  is." 

"I  thought  so.  Lovely  weather,  to  be  sure,  for 
young  people  who  think  only  of  their  own  amuse- 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  35 

ment.  Good-bye,  Lady  Brigid.  I'm  so  glad  I 
found  you  in. " 

"Good-bye,"  said  Lady  Brigid.  She  rang  the 
bell.  She  could  not  accompany  this  visitor  to  the 
hall-door  as  was  her  usual  hospitable  wont.  Her 
pride  was  up  in  arms,  outraged  by  Mrs.  Mawson's 
tittering  innuendoes 

Desiree  and  Mr.  Wing !  How  dared  she  couple 
their  names  together  ?  What  did  she  mean  by  it  ? 
Preposterous  nonsense !  Every  instinct  made  ve- 
hement protest  against  such  a  suggestion. 

Then  the  fire  died  down  as  quickly  as  it  had 
arisen,  and  common  sense  brought  a  fugitive  smile 
to  Lady  Brigid's  lips.  After  all,  it  was  highly  prob- 
able that  the  poor  youth  should  admire  Desiree. 
Everyone  did.  Everyone  masculine,  certainly. 
Lady  Brigid  could  not  help  seeing  that  the  girl 
attracted  men  without  effort :  that  some  intangible, 
indescribable  fragrance  of  sex  emanated  from  her 
as  a  perfume  from  a  flower,  luring  unconsciously. 
Desiree  accepted  the  homage  as  her  delightful 
due,  but  in  all  innocence,  the  mother's  heart  pro- 
tested. 

Where  the  mother- vision  and  the  vision  mascu- 
line differed  was  in  this,  that  to  Lady  Brigid  she 
was  a  pearl  incomparable,  set  in  a  silver  shrine  of 
maidenhood,  while  to  the  men  who  admired  her, 
she  was  a  girl  of  girls,  wholly  human  and  desirable; 
a  young  Eve  in  flight,  glancing  half-afraid,  half- 
delighted  over  a  white  shoulder  at  pursuit.  .  .  . 
Desiree — the    desired:    the  well-named.  .  .  . 


36  The  Beloved  Sinner 

It  is  always  difficult  for  a  mother  to  realize  that 
her  child  is  a  child  no  longer.  To  the  end  of  Time 
she  sees  beneath  the  script  of  the  years  the  fair 
white  page  as  it  was  when  only  her  dreams  were 
written  there.  Man  and  woman  may  do  their  wil- 
ful best  to  make  her  forget  them,  but  in  the 
mother's  heart  the  "child  lives  for  ever.  .  .  . 

Lady  Brigid  went  up  to  Desiree's  room.  The 
girl  was  not  there,  though  an  untidy  ruflfle  of  gar- 
ments, laces,  ribbons,  showed  that  she  had  held 
the  promised  review  of  her  wardrobe,  and  had 
not  yet  resorted  to  the  threatened  bonfire.  Lady 
Brigid  straightened  and  tidied  the  pretty  things, 
which  it  had  been  a  delight  to  shower  on  Desir^e, 
frowning  here,  smiling  there,  as  she  decided  what 
was  or  was  not  available  for  the  visit  to  Frayne, 
which  was  the  only  possibility  admitted  to  her 
wavering  mind  at  present.  She  noticed  that  the 
tennis  racquet  had  gone  from  its  press,  and 
concluded  that  Desiree  had  slipped  away,  rather 
than  run  the  risk  of  meeting  Mrs.  Mawson. 
There  was  no  love  lost  between  them. 

She  went  slowly  down  to  her  den,  still  a  trifle 
ruffled,  pricked  by  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Mawson 's 
words.  What  had  she  meant  to  insinuate?  That 
Desiree  was  seeing  too  much  of  Mr.  Wing?  That 
she  was  carrying  on  a  clandestine  flirtation  with 
him?  Ugh!  .  .  .  Hateful!  .  .  .  How  the 
woman  tarnished  everything  she  touched.  She 
would  question  Desiree  v/hen  she  came  back  from 
the  Croft.    There  were  no  concealments  between 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  37 

them.  Desiree  was  crystal-clear.  She  repeated 
the  words  aloud  to  the  yew  chessmen,  as  if  to 
reassure  herself.  She  thought  of  her  conversation 
with  the  girl.  .  .  .  What  if  she  were  a  little  bit 
interested  in  Mr.  Wing  ?  .  .  .  It  was  only  natural. 
An  artist  was  off  the  beaten  track  for  Desiree : 
different  from  Roddy  Howard  or  the  Challoner 
boys.  .  .  .  But  the  child  had  often  said  that  her 
father  and  Lord  Garry  had  spoilt  her  for  other 
men :  that  she  had  never  met  any  one  half  so  angelic 
as  the  one  or  so  amusing  as  the  other.  Who 
could  compare  this  uncouth  young  person  with 
either. 

Lady  Brigid  turned  to  her  desk,  took  up  a  fat 
black  account-book,  looked  through  its  pages,  and 
sighed.  Then  she  unlocked  a  drawer,  drew  forth 
her  bank-book,  made  difficult  calculations  which 
drew  her  brows  together  and  brightened  the 
spots  on  her  cheeks.  Finally,  she  took  out  of  a  long 
envelope,  a  prospectus  of  the  Queen  of  Sheba  Gold- 
mine, and  scanned  its  glowing  promises  of  ten  per 
cent,  interest.     Ten  per  cent,  interest! 

No  crock  of  gold  at  the  rainbow's  foot  could 
ever  hold  more  irresistible  lure  than  these  words 
for  Lady  Brigid.  She  had  nibbled  away  nearly 
four  thousand  pounds  of  her  capital  already,  reduc- 
ing her  income  to  pinching  dimensions.  If  she 
sold  out  her  remaining  shares  and  invested  them 
in  the  Queen  of  Sheba  Gold  Mine  she  would  more 
than  re-double  her  original  income !  Six  hundred 
a  year  where  she  now  had  a  bare  three !    The  pro- 


38  The  Beloved  Sinner 

spect  dazzled.  She  found  it  increasingly  difficult 
to  provide  the  fifty  pounds  yearly  for  Desiree's 
dress-allowance,  which  her  foolish  generosity  had 
allowed  the  girl  since  her  eighteenth  birthday. 
Truly  it  was  little  enough,  though  disproportion- 
ate in  regard  to  her  present  income. 

Lady  Brigid  eagerly  read  the  names  of  the 
directors.  .  .  .  They  were  good  names,  reliable 
names.  .  .  .  Surely  no  owners  of  such  old  and 
honoured  names  would  deliberately  lend  them- 
themselves  to  fraud.  .  .  .  Then  the  name  of 
the  mine  itself: — The  Queen  of  Sheba!  .  .  . 
There  was  something  reassuring,  something  solidly 
Biblical  about  it.  .  .  .  She  would  hesitate  no 
longer.  She  might  lose  her  chance  if  she  waited. 
She  must  have  some  ready  money  for  this  trip  of 
Desiree's.  Her  bank  balance  was  already  very  low. 
If  only  she  could  give  the  child  that  glimpse  of  the 
season  on  which  her  heart  was  set !  .  .  .  Why  not 
Desiree  as  well  as  another?  Why  should  not  she 
have  every  possible  chance  of  meeting  the  right 
sort  of  man,  not  callow  boys  or  underbred  artists? 
....    A  chance  in  a  thousand.  .  .  . 

She  opened  her  blotter,  took  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  began : 

"Dear  Mr.  Bamet — "  then  paused.  There 
would  probably  be  an  odd  hundred  pounds  or  so 
over  and  above  the  six  thousand.  Could  she,  dare 
she  take  it  and  give  Desiree  this  longed-for  chance? 
Household  needs  were  also  pressing,  and  if  Noel 
were  to  make  himself  responsible  for  the  Lady 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  39 

Chapel  screen  he  would  have  no  more  left  to  give 
her.  Perhaps  if  she  appealed  to  him.  She  shook 
her  head  at  the  thought.  It  would  be  impossible 
now  to  break  her  life-long  rule  of  never  bothering 
him  about  money-matters.  He  gave  her  what  he 
could.  He  must  not  be  worried :  this  was  a  Med- 
ean  law  to  which  Desiree  also  had  been  trained 
to  submit.  She  had  managed  so  long  unaided,  she 
must  go  on  to  the  end,  achieving  the  impossible. 
.  .  .     Yes,  but  by  what  means? 

For  a  moment  it  was  as  if  a  veil  were  rent  and 
she  saw  an  abyss  yawning  beneath  her  feet,  black 
and  terrifying.  .  .  .  Suppose  the  gold-mine  failed, 
as  gold-mines  have  been  known  to  do,  and  all  her 
precious  money  were  lost  ?  .  .  .  The  thought  was 
too  horrible  to  contemplate.  .  .  . 

She  snatched  up  the  prospectus  and  scanned 
again  the  list  of  directors.  Gradually  her  face 
cleared.  They  were  good  names,  honourable 
names.  Their  owners  could  not  lie  or  cheat. 
One  must  always  risk  in  order  to  gain.  She  came 
of  a  line  which  had  gambled  away  most  of  the 
Massarene  money  in  cards,  dice,  or  horses.  It  was 
in  her  blood  to  risk  all  at  a  single  throw,  but  until 
now  no  such  opportunity  had  ever  presented  it- 
self. The  gambling  spirit,  overlaid  in  her  by  the 
patina  of  more  gracious  instincts,  was  still  there, 
inherent  if  dormant. 

* '  Nothing  venture,  nothing  win ! ' '  Childhood's 
tag  came  back  to  her.  She  took  up  her  pen  again, 
but  before  she  had  time  to  write,  a  sound  outside 


40  The  Beloved  Sinner 

wcaught  her  ear.  She  turned  round  and  looked 
through  the  open  French  window.  Lord  Garry- 
stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps. 

Here  was  a  chance  of  expert  advice !  She  would 
consult  him  about  the  Queen  of  Sheba  mine,  but 
not  here.  Her  cheeks  burned.  She  must  get  out 
into  the  open  air.  Hastily  closing  her  desk  she 
went  to  the  window. 

"I'm  coming  out  to  you,"  she  said. 

As  she  stood  there  in  her  dull  blue  gown,  her  eyes 
rshining,  her  colour  heightened  by  excitement,  it 
seemed  to  him  for  a  moment  as  if  the  B  rigid  Mass- 
arene  of  twenty-five  years  ago  had  been  suddenly 
•evoked  from  the  past :  the  one  woman  whom  he  had 
ever  really  loved,  but  whom  he  had  never  been  free 
to  win.  Caught  in  youth  by  a  gust  of  passion 
^nd  whirled  into  marriage,  he  had  realized  this  too 
late,  as  so  many  men  do.  When  freedom  at  last 
•came  to  him  she  was  already  married  to  Noel 
Hasard.  Time  had  long  since  softened  the  sting 
of  desire  and  blunted  the  edge  of  passion;  what 
remained  was  essentially  pleasant  and  undisturb- 
ing — friendship  with  a  faint,  imperishable  nimbus. 

Yet  for  that  one  moment  the  twinge  of  an 
old  pain  shot  across  his  calm,  as  if  for  him,  too, 
youth  had  returned  in  all  the  heat  of  its  impatient 
turbulence. 

The  illusion  faded.  Brigid  Massarene  merged 
•once  more  into  Brigid  Hasard.  A  little  breeze 
fluttered  her  soft  grey  hair:  the  humorous  lines 
showed  clearly  round  her  changeless  blue  eyes; 


A  Thorn  in  the  Flesh  41 

her  big  lovable  mouth  curved  to  a  smile  as  she  came 
down  the  steps  towards  him. 

' '  I've  been  losing  my  temper,  Ludlow,  "  she  said. 

"I  knew  it  by  your  roses. " 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  cheek.  "Winter  roses, 
and  therefore  completely  out  of  place. " 

"Nonsense,  my  good  woman!  Why,  I  scarcely 
feel  autumnal  yet,  and  I  am  three  years  older 
than  you!  Let  us  demonstrate  our  youthfulness 
by  sitting  near  the  lily-pond.  Your  chessmen 
have  the  invariable  effect  of  reducing  my  years  to 
a  pleasant  minimum. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  THE  YEW  GARDEN 

It  was  still  and  scented  in  the  Yew  Garden. 
The  end  of  an  unwontedly  luxuriant  May  seemed 
to  have  hastened  the  footsteps  of  June. 

The  stone  coping  of  the  lily-pond,  enamelled 
with  grey,  green,  and  orange  lichen,  was  warm  to 
the  touch.  Bird-wing  and  butterfly- wing  flashed 
and  fluttered  in  the  afternoon  sunlight :  bird-song 
and  hum  of  bees  threaded  the  stillness  with  music. 
Beneath  the  broad  lily-leaves  red-gold  carp  moved 
lazily  on  delicate  quivering  fins.  Jets  of  glitter- 
ing water  sprang  from  the  bronze  nostrils  of  the 
fountain  hippocampi,  brought  years  ago  by  some 
adventurous  owner  from  Italy. 

"The  Peace  Pool,"  Lord  Garry  called  the 
place.  He  loved  it  almost  as  much  as  Lady  B rigid 
did. 

'  "Sometimes  an  angel  troubles  the  stillness," 
she  said,  dabbling  her  long  fingers  in  the  water, 
"and  I'm  not  always  sure  that  it  is  a  good  angel!" 

"Mrs.  Mawson  in  this  instance!  I  met  her  in 
the  avenue  as  I  was  coming  in.  What  a  poisonous 
creature  she  is !     Her  mission  in  life  seems  to  be 

42 


In  the  Yew  Garden  43 

to  worry  people.     She  tackled  Hasard  as  we  were 
going  to  the  church.  " 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"Nothing  much.  Some  complaint  about  the 
chants, — 'so  long  since  we  had  dear  old  Robinson,' 
— or  something  of  that  sort.  I  could  see  that  it  was 
merely  a  prelude,  but  Hasard  shook  her  off  with  a 
delightful  air  of  oblivion.  We  left  her  on  the  verge 
of  an  explosion " 

"Which  she  came  up  and  vented  on  me,"  said 
Lady  Brigid  quickly.  "I'm  glad  Noel  escaped. 
.  .  .     What  did  you  think  of  the  fresco  ? " 

Lord  Garry  laughed.  "An  interesting  relic, 
but  that  irreverent  monkey,  Dede,  has  a  knack 
of  hitting  the  right  nail  on  the  head.  I  couldn't 
help  thinking  of  her  naughty  description  when  I 
saw  it. " 

"And  Mr.  Wing's  work?"  She  looked  at  him 
searchingly  as  she  asked  the  question. 

"Do  you  know,  Brigid,  I  believe  that  young 
fellow  is  a  bit  of  a  genius  in  his  own  way. " 

"Is  he?"  Her  tone  was  rather  flat.  Were  not 
geniuses  notoriously  peculiar  and  lax  in  their  ideas  ? 
What  chance  had  drawn  one  to  quiet  Bressy  ?  Her 
own  husband,  she  told  herself  reluctantly. 

' '  He  has  a  wonderful  feeling  for  form  and  line,  " 
Lord  Garry  went  on.  "His  carving  is  really 
beautiful,  and  the  designs  for  the  screen  exquisite. 
I  don't  wonder  at  Hasard's  enthusiasm,  although 
I  have  been  obliged  to  damp  it  as  regards  the 
screen." 


44  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"  Oh ,  have  you  ?  Why  ? "  The  relief  in  her  tone 
was  obvious  to  a  sensitive  ear. 

"The  Fund  won't  run  to  it,  and  I  don't  think 
Hasard  ought  to  make  himself  responsible  for  more 
than  he  has  done  already.  " 

' '  Has  he  consented  to  give  up  the  idea  ? ' ' 

"Reluctantly,  I'm  afraid.  Wing  is  to  finish  the 
carvings  for  the  ceiling,  which  will  take  him  some 
time.  I  am  going  to  Russia  next  month  to  look 
into  some  investments  of  mine.  If  they  turn  out 
well  I  have  promised  to  send  a  cheque  towards 
the  screen.  If  not,  the  idea  is  to  be  abandoned 
for  the  present.  It  would  cost,  roughly  speaking, 
about  three  hundred  pounds. " 

"As  much  as  that!"  Lady  Brigid  sighed. 
Then  her  mind  turned  to  his  forthcoming  depar- 
ture. '  *  What  a  wanderer  you  are,  Ludlow !  Always 
in  flight !     No  wonder  we  see  so  little  of  you.  " 

"Better  see  too  little  than  too  much. " 

"We  could  do  with  rather  more, "  she  said  smil- 
ing at  him. 

"You  certainly  have  the  knack  of  making  one 
feel  on  good  terms  with  oneself, "  he  returned. 
"Perhaps  it  would  be  bad  for  my  morals  if  I 
indulged  myself  too  often  in  that  luxury.  Bless 
your  dear  heart,  I  shall  be  back  again  worrying  you 
with  my  worldliness  before  you  know  where  you 
are." 

"Your  worldliness  doesn't  worry  me. " 

' '  Doesn't  it  ?     I  thought  it  did. ' ' 

"Not  really.     I  know  you,  you  see. " 


In  the  Yew  Garden  45 

"No  woman  knows  any  man  until  she's  married 
to  him,  and  not  always  then. " 

The  allusion  pricked  her  to  hesitant  speech. 
"Ludlow,  that  careless  child  of  mine — she  didn't 
hurt  you  by  her  questions  today?"  She  looked 
deprecatingly  at  him. 

"D6de?  No,  you  hyper-sensitive  creature.  I 
believe  she's  right  and  that  you're  a  hopeless 
sentimentalist.  You  thought  it  was  a  case  of 
fools  rushing  in " 

"No,  but — "  She  hesitated  and  then  went  on. 
"You  never  mentioned  the  subject  to  me,  so  of 
course " 

"Of  course  you  thought  it  was  because  it  hurt.- 
Well,  it  wasn't.  It  was  because  I  had  put  the 
episode  thankfully  out  of  my  life  for  ever,  locked 
the  door  upon  it,  and  flung  away  the  key. " 

"Then  you  weren't ?" 

"Not  a  scratch.  I've  had  a  good  life,  a  full  life. 
If  I  had  to  live  it  over  again  I  should  probably  do 
the  same  foolish  things.  So  would  Camilla.  So 
would  you!"  -, 

"Very  likely." 

* '  Undoubtedly, ' '  he  asserted.  '  *  Given  the  same 
characters  and  temperaments.  ...  I  don't  know 
why  I  never  talked  things  over  with  you.  There 
were  always  other  interests,  and  I  wanted  to  for- 
get." 

"Tell  me  now,"  she  urged  softly.  "I've 
always  wanted  to  know  exactly  what  happened. 
That  is,  if  it  really  doesn't  hurt. " 


46  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Nothing  but  the  truth  will  kill  your  romantic 
belief  in  my  broken  heart, "  he  said  with  a  whimsi- 
cal smile.  "It  can  be  told  in  very  few  words. 
...  I  did  wrong  to  call  Camilla  a  tornado.  She 
was  rather  a  humming-top  that  must  spin  or  die. 
When  Camilla  stops  spinning  she  will  surely  die ! 
She  spun  in  the  wrong  direction  for  me.  I  stood 
it  as  long  as  I  could.  Then  I  found  that  if  I  went 
on  spinning  with  her  /  should  surely  die.  So  I 
stopped  spinning.  It  was  all  most  amicably 
arranged.  We  parted  with  intense  relief  on  either 
side,  et  voilal" 

"Is  that  all?"  She  wondered  more  than  ever 
what  really  lay  beneath  the  trite  fantastic  nar- 
rative. 

"Not  quite."  His  voice  changed  a  little. 
^'She  spun  straight  enough  for  a  while.  Then  she 
tumbled  into  mischief.  She  wrote  and  asked  me 
to  divorce  her.  From  what  she  said  it  was  the 
only  thing  I  could  do  for  her.  " 

"When  was  that?" 

"The  summer  you  and  Hasard  were  engaged. " 

"Then?  When  I  was  so  happy?  Oh,  Ludlow, 
and  you  never  told  me!" 

"How  could  I  cloud  the  first  happiness  you 
ever  had?  Thank  God,  I  was  not  quite  such  a 
kill- joy  as  that!" 

"You  do  believe  in  God,  then?"  she  asked 
quickly.  It  was  an  hour  of  revelation,  and  things 
he  had  sometimes  said  had  puzzled  her. 

"I — perhaps  not  quite  as  you  do, "  he  answered 


In  the  Yew  Garden  47 

^slowly.  "God,  Love,  Beauty — they're  all  the 
same.  The  mystery  of  a  flower's  perfume,  a  bird's 
wing,  the  wind  that  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  two 
foolish  people  sitting  by  a  lily-pond  trying  to 
touch  the  Ineffable !  .  .  .  Something  inexplicable 
must  be  behind  it  all.  What  do  labels  matter?" 
"Noel  thinks  they  do.  So  do  I." 
"High  Church  people  like  labels.  Hasard 
knows  my  limitations, ' '  he  began,  and  then  stopped. 
He  did  not  want  to  discuss  her  husband  with  her. 
He  turned  the  subject.  "Have  you  ever  seen 
any  of  Wing's  paintings?" 

"No.  Does  he  paint?  I  didn't  know." 
"He  took  us  down  to  the  ramshackle  bam 
which  he's  rigged  up  as  a  studio.  Now  there's 
a  case  of  not  knowing  one's  limitations!  Wing's 
carving  is  beautiful,  his  painting  mere  chaos. 
Mad  or  meaningless  splashes  of  colour.  And  yet 
he  says  that  that  is  the  expression  of  his  soul,  and 
the  carving  merely  the  skill  of  his  fingers.  To  me 
there  is  infinitely  more  soul  in  his  designs  for  the 
screen  than  in  all  his  Futurist  ravings  put  to- 
gether. ...  A  strange  boy,  but  undoubtedly 
clever.  He  has  mixed  blood  in  him,  he  told  me. 
His  mother  was  Greek,  his  father  English.  The 
result  of  such  an  amalgam  is  always  an  unknown 
quantity,  therefore  interesting.  It's  like  a  chemi- 
cal experiment.  One  can  never  quite  foretell  the 
result  of  untried  combinations. " 

"What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Wing,  personally? 
Apart  from  his  art,  I  mean?" 


48  The  Beloved  Sinner 

The  careful  carelessness  of  her  tone  pricked  him 
to  amused  attention. 

"It  has  just  occurred  to  me  that  he  is  probably 
the  only  person  in  Bressy  who  remotely  resembles 
a  tornado!" 

* '  Ludlow !     You  don 't  mean ' ' 

' '  Brigid !  Has  Dede  been  flirting  with  the  poor 
youth?" 

Lady  Brigid's  head  went  up,  "Dede  never 
flirts.     Odious,  smirching  word ! " 

Lord  Garry  chuckled.  "Oh,  doesn't  she?  My 
dear  foolish  woman,  Dede  has  flirted  with  her 
whole  world-masculine  ever  since  she  was  short- 
coated,  or  whatever  you  call  the  process  of  emerg- 
ing from  the  first  cocoon.  She  will  continue  to  do 
so  until  her  curls  are  white  and  the  last  spark  has 
gone  out  of  her  pretty  eyes." 

' '  Ludlow !    How  can  you ! " 

"Don't  blame  me,  my  dear  Brigid.  Blame  Na- 
ture, who  has  made  your  child  a  desirable  woman, 
and  men  merely  men.  Come,  it  can't  really  be  a 
surprise  to  you  that  your  duckling  has  turned 
into  a  swan  and  gone  for  a  little  sail  on  the  waters 
of  life  by  herself." 

"Don't  tease,  Ludlow.  I  know  you  think 
I'm  absurd  about  Dede,  but  where  there's 
smoke " 

"It's  liable  to  get  into  one's  eyes!  What's  the 
smoke  in  this  instance?" 

"Mrs.  Mawson " 

"I  might  have  known  that  old  cat  was  at  the 


In  the  Yew  Garden  49 

■    / 
bottom  of  it.     Don't  let  her  worry  you.     What  did 

she  say?" 

"It  wasn't  exactly  what  she  said,  but  what  she 
insinuated.  She  asked  me  if  I  had  noticed  how 
Mr.  Wing  looked  at  Desiree  in  church.  " 

Lord  Garry  laughed  aloud.  "I  have  yet  to 
learn  that  it's  a  criminal  offence  for  a  man  to  look 
at  a  pretty  girl  in  church.  Sometimes  it's  one's 
only  alleviation.  .  .  .  Forgive  me,  my  dear,  but 
is  that  all?" 

"Ye — es, "   she  admitted  reluctantly. 

"Then  I  see  no  cause  for  worry.  Dede  is  nearly 
twenty-one  and  fully  armed.  Leander  Wing  is 
twenty-three,  and  of  the  true  artistic  tempera- 
ment. The  wonder  would  be  if  he  had  not  fallen 
in  love  with  her.  I  don't  think  he  is  her  type,  but 
one  never  can  tell  with  girls.  .  .  .  How  far  has  it 
gone?"  he  asked  suddenly. 

"I  didn't  know  that  it  had  even  begun,"  she 
admitted,  "until  Mrs.  Mawson's  visit  today." 

' '  Has  D6d6  never  talked  of  him  to  you  ? " 

"She  asked  me  this  afternoon  what  I  thought 
of  him.  She  said  he  gave  her  the  impression  of 
something  on  a  leash.  " 

Lord  Garry  glanced  at  her  quickly.  "Did 
she?  D6de  has  brains  beneath  her  curls.  She  is 
also  at  the  age  when  it  seems  most  desirable  to  play 
with  things  on  leashes,  sometimes  even  to  the  extent 
of  unleashing  them.  .  .  .  Generally  a  risky  ex- 
periment. " 

His  tone  was  dry  as  he  watched  her  troubled 


50  The  Beloved  Sinner 

face.     She   did    not    speak.     She   seemed    to    be 
thinking  deeply. 

"Why  not  provide  an  antidote?"  he  suggested. 
"All  young  things  love  change.  Send  her  away 
for  a  little." 

Lady  B rigid  looked  up.  Speech  and  decision 
were  simultaneous.  "How  odd  that  you  should 
have  suggested  that!  She's  just  had  a  delightful 
invitation.  Monica's  elder  girl,  Jill,  is  going  to  be 
married  in  July.  They  want  Dede  to  spend  the 
rest  of  the  season  in  town  and  go  back  with  them 
to  Frayne  for  the  wedding.  " 

' '  The  very  thing.   Who  is  the  courageous  man  ? '  ^ 

She  told  him. 

"You  ought  to  go  to  the  wedding,  too.  The 
change  would  do  you  good.  " 

She  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  couldn't  possibly  leave 
Noel." 

"Take  him  with  you.  " 

"Nothing  would  induce  him  to  go,  so  that 
decides  it." 

"Does  it?"  he  asked  drily.  "It  would  be 
wholesome  discipline  for  Hasard  to  be  obliged  to 
do  without  you  once  in  a  while.  " 

"Oh,  but  he  couldn't,"  she  declared,  with  a  little 
laugh.     "He'd  be  absolutely  lost  if  I  went  away. " 

"Who  can  argue  with  a  conceited  woman? 
Well,  well,  send  your  cygnet  out  of  the  danger- 
zone  as  soon  as  may  be.  If  I  read  my  D6de  aright^ 
chiffons  have  at  present  a  strong  enough  interest 
to  oust  any  young  man  off  her  horizon.  " 


In  the  Yew  Garden  51 

"The  place  will  be  deadly  dull  without  the 
child.  We  seem  to  be  only  half  alive  when  she's 
away.  She  reminds  me  of  a  butterfly  fluttering 
around  two  grey  old  monoliths.  " 

"Don't  be  absurd!"  he  cried.  "Anything  less 
like  a  grey  old  monolith  than  you  are  I  never 
beheld." 

She  laughed.  His  sharpness  was  tonic  rather 
than  cutting.  A  pleasant  silence  fell,  such  as  can 
only  be  sustained  between  two  people  who  are  in 
absolute  sympathy.  Now  was  the  time  to  ask 
about  the  Queen  of  Sheba  mine.  She  played  with 
the  idea  for  a  moment.  Perhaps  he  would  only 
throw  cold  water  on  the  scheme.  She  knew  how 
odd  men  were  on  the  subject  of  money ;  how  extra- 
ordinarily prejudiced  in  favour  of  a  safe  four  per 
cent.  Then  another  thought  thrust  it  momentarily 
aside,  demanding  utterance. 

"What  became  of  Camilla  afterwards?" 

"After  I  divorced  her,  you  mean?  She  married 
the  man,  since  when  she  has  been  spinning  merrily 
about  the  world,  and  has  probably  spun  herself 
back  into  society  again.  I  haven't  seen  her. 
She's  a  rich  woman,  you  know.  Her  great- 
grandfather on  the  maternal  side  was  one  Solomon 
Morse,  an  old  gentleman  of  Hebrew  lineage,  whose 
money-sense  was  very  strongly  developed." 

' '  Solomon ' '— ' '  rich"—"  money ' ' !— the  words 
clanged  like  gongs  in  her  ears,  bringing  back  her 
own  worries  with  a  rush. 

Lord  Garry  rose  a  little  stiffly.     "We  mustn't  sit 


52  The  Beloved  Sinner 

here  too  long.  Will  you  take  me  round  the  garden 
and  show  me  what  you've  been  doing  since  last  I 
was  here.  It  will  be  some  time  before  I  see  it 
again. " 

' '  I  hate  to  think  of  your  going  away.  We  shall 
miss  you  greatly. " 

"Will  you  really?  I  believe  you're  the  only 
person  in  the  world  who  can  say  that  with  any 
truth." 

"Oh,  nonsense,  Ludlow.  You  have  hosts  of 
friends." 

"None  so  old  as  you.  " 

She  looked  at  him  affectionately.  "There's 
no  bond  like  the  bond  of  'Do  you  remember?'  " 
she  said  softly. 

If  she  had  ever  divined  that  something  deeper 
than  friendship  had  once  lain  beneath  his  feeling 
for  her  she  never  admitted  it,  even  to  herself.  .  .  . 
Yet  the  sixth  sense  in  woman  generally  whispers 
in  her  ear  when  a  man  loves  her.  The  difi&culty 
with  the  average  woman  is  to  believe  that  he  has 
ever  ceased  to  do  so,  which  is  why  she  invariably 
adorns  a  by-gone  lover  with  a  halo  of  romance, 
no  matter  how  prosaic  the  passing  years  may  have 
made  him !  .  .  . 

Her  old  friend  was  going  away  and  the  moments 
were  flying.  It  would  be  an  ease  to  her  mind  to 
think  that  she  had  consulted  him,  even  if  she  did 
not  take  his  advice.  Did  one  ever  take  advice,  she 
wondered,  when  it  ran  counter  to  one's  own 
desires?     Did  one  ever  really  want  advice?    Was 


In  the  Yew  Garden  53 

it  not  rather  confirmation  of  one's  own  opinion 
that  one  unconsciously  asked  for?  She  made  a 
tentative  plunge. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  the  Queen  of 
Sheba  Gold-mine,  Ludlow?" 

He  looked  at  her  in  astonishment.  His  thoughts 
had  been  wandering  far  in  another  direction,  peer- 
ing across  the  gulf  of  years  which  separated  past 
misery  from  present  peace. 

"Amazing  person!  Why  do  you  ask  such  a 
question?  Are  you  thinking  of  speculating?  If 
so,  take  Punch's  famous  advice!" 

"Prospectuses  are  always  being  sent  to  Noel," 
she  said,  evading  direct  answer.  "I  happened 
to  read  this  one.     It  sounded  tempting." 

"Naturally.  That  is  the  chief  mission  of  a 
mining  prospectus.  If  the  trap  isn't  alluringly 
baited  the  victims  won't  enter.  " 

"Victims?  Then  you  think  it's  a  fraud?  But 
the  directors — there  are  good  names  among  them.  " 
She  mentioned  one  or  two. 

"What's  in  a  name?"  he  quoted  teasingly. 
"All  is  not  gold  that  glitters,  even  in  a  Queen  of 
Sheba  prospectus ! "  He  had  no  idea  that  she  was 
in  earnest. 

"Then  you  think  it's  a  fraud,"  she  repeated 
slowly.  She  knew  he  would  only  laugh  if  she  told 
him  of  her  foolish  reliance  on  its  Biblical  name. 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  but  it 
probably  is.  Don't  speculate,  Brigid.  It's  a 
risky  game.      If  you  have  money  to  bum  give 


54  The  Beloved  Sinner 

it  to  me  and  I'll  invest  it  at  good  interest  for 
you." 

"What  do  you  call  good  interest?" 

"Four  and  a  half  per  cent.  " 

She  gave  an  odd  little  laugh.  ' '  Four  and  a  half 
per  cent,  is  very  dull. " 

' '  But  safe, ' '  he  asserted. 

"Most  safe  things  are  dull, "  she  declared. 

"Are  they  ?  Now  if  I  had  said  that,  or  Dede —  " 
he  paused  and  smiled  significantly. 

"I  cannot  let  you  have  the  monopoly  of  being 
frivolous,"  she  retorted.  The  red  spots  burned 
on  her  cheeks  again.  She  felt  a  sinking  sense  of 
disappointment. 


CHAPTER  V 


SOMETHING   ON   A   LEASH 


When,  from  her  bedroom  window,  Desir6e  saw 
Mrs.  Mawson's  approach  she  changed  quickly, 
picked  up  her  tennis  racquet,  and  fled,  singing 
softly  to  herself  as  she  went  down  the  avenue. 

The  life-force  which  stirred  the  sap  in  the  trees 
till  it  rose  to  light  the  green  fires  of  spring  stirred 
her  own  pulses  to  an  answering  riot.  It  was  good 
to  be  alive,  to  be  young  on  such  a  day  as  this! 
Good  to  think  of  the  enchanting  vista  that  lay 
before  her !  For,  despite  her  mother's  disclaimer, 
Desiree  had  a  lurking  hope,  which  almost  bore 
guess  of  a  certainty,  that  the  London  visit  would 
be  managed  after  all. 

How  wonderful  her  mother  was!  There  really 
was  no  one  like  her.  How  was  it  that  some  girls 
were  not  even  fond  of  their  mothers?  Molly 
Howard  was  often  rude  to  hers,  but  then  Mrs. 
Howard  in  nowise  resembled  Lady  Brigid,  who 
was  quite  the  nicest  person  in  the  world  except — 
well,  was  there  any  exception? 

Scanning  her  universe  Desiree  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  there  was  not.     Her  pace  slackened  a 

55 


56  The  Beloved  Sinner 

little  as  she  went  down  the  winding  avenue.  Her 
mother  had  been  a  Httle  odd  today  about  being 
weak  where  she  should  have  been  strong:  what 
exactly  had  she  meant?  She  was  not  weak. 
Everyone  went  to  her  in  their  troubles.  Every- 
one leaned  on  her.  How  could  one  lean  on  weak- 
ness? .  .  .  And  her  speech  about  ultimate 
payment?  .  .  .  That  pricked  Desiree's  con- 
science a  little.  She  thought  how  worried  her 
mother  would  be  if  she  knew  how  she  had  over- 
stepped her  allowance.  But  Mother  mustn't  be 
worried.  She  would  pay  something  on  account 
when  she  got  her  next  quarter's  money.  Besides 
it  was  only  to  Mrs.  Brabazon  she  was  in  debt. 
Mrs.  Brabazon  was  always  awfully  decent.  She 
never  minded  waiting  a  little.  It  would  be  all 
right,  she  reassured  herself,  especially  when  Mrs. 
Brabazon  got  this  new  order:  an  order  which 
opened  a  further  vista  of  delight  to  Desiree. 

Lord  Garry  had  been  right.  Clothes  were  the 
moment's  paramount  interest,  leaving  mere  man 
where  he  had  hitherto  been,  pleasantly  on  the 
horizon. 

And  yet  one  young  man,  in  the  person  of  Leander 
Wing,  was  not  at  all  content  to  remain  on  the 
horizon,  but  obtruded  himself  suddenly  upon  a 
vista  of  chiffons,  as  Desiree  swung  open  the  gate 
and  emerged  into  the  road.  He  stepped  forward 
from  beneath  a  big  elm,  whose  shed  blossom-discs 
carpeted  the  ground  with  a  fairy  green;  and  con- 
fronted her.     Curiously   enough,   sudden  as  his 


"Something  on  a  Leash"  57 

appearance  was  it  did  not  altogether  surprise 
Desiree.  It  was  not  the  first  time  that  he  had 
sprung,  spritelike,  across  her  path. 

"I  almost  missed  you,"  he  said  breathlessly, 
as  if  he  had  been  running.  ' '  Lord  Garry  and  your 
father  came  down  to  the  studio  to  look  at  my  pic- 
tures after  they  had  been  to  the  church.  I  had  to 
beg  them  to  excuse  me.  I  was  so  afraid  of  miss- 
ing you. " 

"How  very  foolish  of  you!"  Desiree,  answered. 
"Lord  Garry  has  a  great  deal  of  influence  and 
might  be  able  to  help  you  later  on. " 

"He  doesn't  know  much  about  art,  but  he  seems 
to  have  temperament, "  said  Leander  Wing,  with 
an  assurance  that  amused  his  hearer.  "However, 
I  would  give  years  of  his  influence  for  one  moment 
with  you." 

Desiree  dropped  her  tennis  racquet  and  swept 
him  a  curtsey.  "Monsieur,  you  flatter  me!"  she 
cried. 

She  treated  him  exactly  as  she  treated  her  other 
boyish  admirers.  Her  coquetry  was  spontaneous, 
unconscious.  Yet  beneath  the  surface  she  was 
aware  of  a  difference  in  the  quality  of  Leander 
Wing's  homage :  a  difference  that  piqued  her  inter- 
est and  thrilled  her  senses.  In  appearance  he  was 
different,  too.  Even  in  flannels  he  did  not  look 
quite  like  Dick  Challoner  or  Roddy  Howard. 
They  were  clean,  fair  English  boys,  healthily  ob- 
vious. There  was  something  bizarre  about  Lean- 
der Wing's  angular  thinness,  his  red  hair  tumbling 


58  The  Beloved  Sinner 

over  queer  eyes  that  sometimes  dwindled  to  sparks 
under  thick  red  brows,  and  sometimes  opened  in  a 
blaze  of  light.  It  gave  Desiree  an  odd  tingle  of 
excitement  to  meet  that  burning  gaze  across  a 
room  or  in  the  midst  of  otherwise  honest  prayers : 
and  added  a  pleasurable  thrill  to  these  pulsing 
days  of  May.  Life  was  just  now  a  sunny  glade 
with  an  enchanting  vista  at  the  end  of  it :  the  ele- 
ments tamed  in  rose-chains  at  the  feet  of  Summer- 

Leander  Wing  stooped  to  pick  up  Desiree's  rac- 
quet. "I  thought  that  as  it  was  so  early  we  might 
walk  round  by  the  Bluebell  Wood, ' '  he  said.  "I've 
always  wanted  to  see  if  they  really  matched  your 
eyes.     I  am  never  quite  sure." 

That  was  the  sort  of  thing  he  was  always  saying 
in  an  impersonal  way  that  half-piqued,  half- 
pleased  Desiree.  Sometimes  she  felt  an  impulse  to 
provoke  some  more  vivid  expression  of  feeling,  but 
always  a  little  fear  of  that  hidden  turbulence  re- 
strained her.  She  wanted  to  keep  her  hand  on  the 
leash,  but  she  Hked  to  feel  it  strain  and  pull.  It 
gave  her  a  queer  troubling  sense  of  power.  She 
had  no  idea  of  the  forces  with  which  she  was  play- 
ing. Love  was  to  her  a  winged  cherub  rather  than 
a  mighty  angel,  whose  minister,  passion,  is  a  flame 
of  fire. 

"If  you  like,"  she  returned  carelessly.  "It's 
just  a  chance  that  I  happened  to  be  so  early.  I 
saw  Mrs.  Mawson  coming  to  see  mother,  and  I 
fled." 

He  frowned  imtil  his  eyes  almost  disappeared. 


"Something  on  a  Leash*'  59 

"That  woman!  How  can  Lady  Brigid  tolerate 
her?" 

"She  can't,  but  she  has  to,"  Desir6e  answered. 
"She  says  that  there  ought  to  be  a  law  prohibiting 
rector's  widows  from  living  in  the  same  parishes  as 
the  new  people !  Clergy-folk  have  enough  to  bear 
without  that!  .  .  .  But  what  has  Mrs.  Maw- 
son  done  to  you?" 

"You  know  I  lodge  with  the  Boltons?" 

"All  Bressy  did  before  you  were  there  a  day. " 

"Well,  that  old  viper  saw  me  talking  to  Tessie 
Hart,  their  niece  from  London,  down  near  my 
studio  the  other  day,  and  went  straight  to  Mother 
Bolton  and  harangued  her!  Warned  her  of  me! 
As  if — as  if — "     Indignation  choked  him. 

Desiree  smiled.  "What  were  you  talking  to 
Tessie  Hart  about?" 

' '  I  wanted  her  to  sit  to  me  for  my  new  picture. " 

"And  will  she?"  Desir6e's  tone  cooled  a  Uttle. 
She  did  not  altogether  like  to  hear  of  his  wanting 
to  paint  Tessie  Hart. 

"No.  She  refused  when  she  saw  my  other  pic- 
tures.    She  has  a  Philistine  soul. " 

Desiree  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  I  have,  too. 
At  least,  I  don't  understand  your  pictures.  What 
is  the  subject  of  this  one?" 

"An  impression  of  a  London  street-"comer  at 
night.  She  has  just  the  provocative  sort  of  face 
I  wanted,  disagreeable  little  thing." 

"I  don't  think  the  faces  much  matter  in  your 
pictures, "  said  Desiree,  with  the  disarming  frank- 


6o  The  Beloved  Sinner 

ness  of  utter  ignorance.  "You  seem' to  put  any- 
thing you  like  on  the  canvas  and  call  it  the  first 
name  that  comes  into  your  head!  That  one  you 
showed  Daddy  and  me  called  A  Novice  at  Prayer 
did  not  seem  to  mean  anything.  It  looked  like  a  lay 
figure  with  some  awful  skin  disease,  all  blotches. 
Perhaps  that  is  what  you  intended,  though,  and 
the  poor  thing  was  praying  to  be  cured!  Was 
that  it?" 

Leander  Wing  tossed  back  the  hair  that  was 
timibling  into  his  eyes  and  laughed.  "You  are 
delicious!"  he  cried.  "You  try  to  prick  me  with 
thistledown,  you  little  English  flower,  cool  and 
soft  as  the  petals  of  roses!  But  you  don't  hurt, 
because  you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking 
about!" 

"I  love  your  carving,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"Bah!  My  carving!  I  loathe  it,"  he  cried 
vehemently.  "At  least  I  don't  exactly  loathe  it, 
I  merely  despise  it.  I  use  it  as  a  means  to  an  end. 
It  keeps  my  body  alive,  but  it  starves  my  soul. 
My  tragedy  is  that  I  am  kept  at  it,  bound  and 
chained  by  form,  when  something  stupendous  in 
me  struggles  for  expression,  something  chaotic, 
which  I  can  only  express  in  paint. " 

"Perhaps  you'll  paint  a  masterpiece  in  splashes 
some  day,"  Desiree  consoled.  "Ask  me  to  the 
private  view.  I  shall  feel  flattered,  though  prob- 
ably I  shan't  understand  the  picture. " 

He  gave  an  odd  little  laugh.  "No,  you  won't 
understand  it,"  he  said  abruptly,  swinging  the 


"Something  on  a  Leash"  6i 

racquets  to  and  fro.  "How  should  you,  finished 
product  of  modernity  that  you  are,  understand 
an  elemental  soul?"  He  walked  quickly.  His 
eyes  glittered.  He  seemed  almost  angry  with  her, 
Desiree  thought,  with  a  little  thrill  of  excitement. 
One  never  knew  where  to  have  him.  He  was  very 
interesting,  very  stimulating,  even  in  his  rudeness : 
perhaps  because  of  it. 

"You're  very  fond  of  talking  about  your  soul,  '* 
she  said  provocatively.  "I'm  not  even  sure  that 
I  have  one. " 

He  swung  round  to  her  with  denial  as  vehement 
as  his  former  assertion. 

' '  But  you  have.  You  have.  One  day  you  will 
find  it.  There  is  no  armour  against  Fate.  Your 
fate  will  come  upon  you  suddenly  some  day  and 
sweep  you  away  like  a  straw  on  a  torrent.  " 

She  looked  up  at  him,  half-startled.  "Oh,  but 
I  don't  think  I  should  like  that. " 

"It  doesn't  matter  whether  you  like  it  or  not. 
It's  what  happens  to  unawakened  people  like  you; 
people  with  dormant  souls. .  .  .  You've  a  sen- 
suous love  of  beauty,  too,  that  answers  to  mine, 
if  you  only  knew  it.  " 

Desiree  wrinkled  her  nose.  "I  don't  think  sen- 
suous is  a  very  nice-sounding  word. " 

"It  only  means  being  easily  affected  through 
the  medium  of  the  senses.  I'll  prove  it  to  you. 
You  love  textures,  the  soft  touch  of  fur  or  velvet, 
the  smoothness  of  silk,  the  slippery  coolness  of 
linen.     Smells,  too,  the  haunting  tang  of  wood- 


62  The  Beloved  Sinner 

smoke,  the  hot  richness  of  gorse  in  the  sun,  the 
spiritual  scent  of  lily-of-the-valley,  the  swooning 
fragrance  of  roses.     Don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  nodded,  feehng  vaguely  disturbed. 

"So  do  I.  I  tell  you  the  perfume  of  freesias 
makes  me  feel  as  if  I  had  an  immortal  soul.  The 
smell  of  syringa  makes  me  feel  hot  and  wicked." 
He  stopped  abruptly.  "I  wonder  if  I  could  make 
you  understand,  you  exquisite  little  EngHsh  blos- 
som. " 

"Why  do  you  always  use  the  word  English  as 
if  it  were  a  term  of  contempt?  I've  always  been 
rather  proud  of  being  English,  though  I  am  half 
Irish  as  well. " 

•  "Ah,  there  you  are!  There's  the  blessed  amal- 
gam, mixed  blood  like  my  own.  The  leaven  that 
produces  temperament,  that  saves  you  from  being 
a  beautiful  block,  or  stock  or  stone. " 

"Mr.  Wing,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  you've  escaped,  through  your 
merciful  mother,  attainment  of  the  English  ideal, 
the  block  ideal,  the  stone-wall,  impregnable- 
fortress  ideal.  You  are  not  really  cold.  There  is 
fire  in  you  beneath  your  snow.  Some  day  you  will 
find  it  out  for  yourself.  .  .  .  God,  what  a 
blaze!"  he  said  below  his  breath,  with  half- 
closed  eyes.  "If  only  I  could  light  it!  Then 
he  took  a  step  towards  her,  opening  his  eyes 
suddenly.  Their  light  seemed  to  scorch  her. 
She  shrank  back  a  Httle.  "Could  I?  Can  I?" 
he  whispered. 


"Something  on  a  Leash"  63 

"Please  don't  try,"  she  said  in  a  voice  that 
trembled  in  spite  of  herself.  '  *  It's  far  too  hot  even 
to  talk  of  fires." 

He  flung  back  his  hair  with  his  favourite  wild 
gesture. 

"So  be  it,"  he  cried.  "Let's  wander  on  in 
search  of  green  shade  and  coolness.  Let's  bathe 
in  bluebell  pools  until  our  hot  spirits  shiver.  " 

Desiree's  pulses  quickened  as  she  walked  beside 
him  in  silence  down  the  lane  that  led  to  the  Blue- 
bell Wood.  Something  new  and  strange  was 
stirring  within  her:  some  hitherto  unknown  emo- 
tion or  desire.  She  did  not  know  that  it  was  the 
first  whispering  of  Nature's  greatest  secret:  that 
Leander  Wing  was  but  her  messenger;  whether  as 
high-priest  or  acolyte  was  still  hidden  in  the  book 
of  Time. 

Suddenly  under  the  silence  Desiree  felt  a  tug  at 
the  leash  that  drove  her  to  the  refuge  of  speech. 

"Will  you  be  disappointed  if  Daddy  gives  up  the 
idea  of  the  screen?"  she  asked,  taking  the  first 
safe  subject  that  flashed  into  her  mind. 

"More  than  disappointed,"  he  answered,  turn- 
ing quickly.  "He  must  let  me  do  the  screen. 
He  must  not  rob  me  of  my  red  pottage.  His  heart 
is  set  on  it.     So  is  mine. " 

"Why?" 

"For  two  reasons.  If  I  get  the  commission  for 
the  screen  it  will  give  me  enough  money  to  chuck 
carving  for  years,  and  paint,  paint,  paint  until  I 
have   satisfied  my   craving   a  little.     The  other 


64  The  Beloved  Sinner 

reason — ^but  that  won't  interest  you,"  he  broke 
off  abruptly. 

"It  will  interest  me.     Please  tell  me. " 

Once  again  she  let  herself  be  guided  by  previous 
intercourse  with  Dick  and  Roddy.  So  would  she 
coax  them  to  shy,  half -reluctant  admissions.  She 
felt  Leander  Wing's  difference  anew  when  she  met 
his  look  and  saw  the  odd  smile  that  twisted  his 
thin  lips. 

"I'll  tell  you  in  the  wood,"  he  answered,  "if 
you  really  care  to  know. "  He  vaulted  the  stile, 
and  put  up  his  hands  to  help  her  over.  Their 
hot  dry  clasp  renewed  her  faint  sense  of  uneasiness. 
She  withdrew  her  own,  quickly. 

The  wood  sloped  down  the  side  of  the  hill  be- 
hind the  Croft,  dropping  to  a  hollow  in  its  centre. 
It  was  a  silent,  sweet-enchanted  place  of  delicate 
green  branches  above  silver  beechboles,  round 
whose  columns  spread  pools  and  streams  of  blue- 
bells, deeper  in  colour  than  the  glimpses  of  sky- 
overhead,  and  thinning  in  the  distance  to  a  magical 
amethyst  mist. 

Sunlight  fell  in  golden  bars  and  splashes  across  the 
drifts  of  blue,  and  lit  the  young  beech-leaves  to  a 
green  luminance.  Somewhere  in  the  depth  of  the 
little  wood  a  nightingale  tried  a  tentative  phrase 
or  two,  practising  liquid  roulades  for  his  evening 
love-song.  For  a  moment  the  two  stood  mute, 
absorbed  in  the  tumult  of  their  own  thoughts. 
Then  Leander  turned  abruptly  and  fell  upon  his 
knees  among  the  bluebells,  plucking  them  fever- 


** Something  on  a  Leash"  65 

ishly,  pressing  them  to  his  face  and  drawing  in 
great  breaths  of  their  curious  honey-sweetness. 
Desiree  leaned  against  a  beech-trunk  watching 
him,  still  faintly  excited,  still  on  the  edge  of  expect- 
ancy of  she  knew  not  what. 

Leander  looked  up  at  her,  his  eyes  dwindling  to 
sparks  of  brightness, 

' '  If  only  I  could  paint  you  as  you  stand  there 
so  that  all  the  world  should  see  you  as  I  see  you!" 
he  murmured,  half  to  himself.  "The  soul  of  the 
wood!.  The  soul  of  all  women!  Desiree,  the 
world's  desire,  with  the  golden  apple  of  Paris  in 
your  hand!" 

Desiree  was  silent.  Her  eyes  smiled  answer. 
There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say.  In  her  heart 
she  knew  that  if  he  ever  painted  her  it  would  be  as 
a  series  of  unrecognizable  blotches:  still  the  sug- 
gestion flattered.  It  is  not  every  girl  of  twenty 
who  has  been  called  the  World's  Desire,  well  aware 
though  she  may  be  that  her  beauty  is  not  really  of 
such  transcendent  quality.  It  would  be  something 
to  think  over  in  the  moments  in  which  one  savours 
those  unforgotten  happenings  whose  memory  is 
often  more  poignant  than  the  actual  event. 

"Come  nearer,"  he  commanded  abruptly. 
"That  I  may  match  the  bluebells  with  your  eyes. " 

If  he  had  been  Dick  or  Roddy,  Desiree  would 
have  laughed  at  him,  made  him  ask  prettily  before 
she  yielded  to  so  odd  a  demand.  Some  swift  in- 
stinct forbade  such  trifling  now.  The  leash  drew 
very  taut.     She  had  the  odd  sense  of  not  knowing 


66  The  Beloved  Sinner 

what  the  least  unconsidered  touch  might  pre- 
cipitate. She  approached  him  half  reluctantly, 
stopping  a  pace  or  two  away  from  him.  He  fiimg 
himself,  still  on  his  knees,  towards  her,  his  eyes 
burning  on  hers. 

"Stoop,  World's  Desire,"  he  said  hoarsely, 
"that  I  may  drown  myself  in  the  blue  sea  of  your 
eyes." 

Desiree  stood  still,  shivering  a  little.  Here  was 
no  half -playful,  half -earnest  admiration.  Some- 
thing she  had  never  seen  before  cried  to  her  from 
Leander  Wing's  white  face;  cried  with  a  voice  that 
made  her  heart  beat  so  loudly  that  it  drowned  even 
the  song  of  the  nightingale. 

The  leash  strained  to  its  utmost.  He  held  the 
bluebells  towards  her  with  trembling  hands. 

"Here  at  your  feet  I  will  tell  you  why  I  am 
willing  to  sell  my  birthright  for  the  accursed 
carving,"  he  said  in  low,  thick  tones.  "It  is  that 
I  may  be  near  you. " 

Unconsidered  words  rushed   to   Desiree's   lips. 

"Oh,  but  I'm  going  away,"  she  cried,  drawing 
back  a  little,  and  gazing  at  him  half-fascinated, 
half-repelled. 

Her  evading  movement  was  the  one  thing  needed 
to  snap  the  leash.  Self-control  fled.  He  threw 
his  arms  round  her  shrinking  body  and  strained  her 
violently  to  him. 

"You  mustn't.  You  mustn't.  I  love  you.  I 
am  on  fire  for  you. "  He  pressed  his  head  against 
her,  shaking  like  a  leaf  with  the  vehemence  of  his 


** Something  on  a  Leash"  67 

passion.  "You  don't  know  what  love  is.  I  will 
teach  you.  Let  me  teach  you.  I  have  the  blood 
of  great  lovers  in  my  veins — the  blood  of  Paris,  of 
Helen,  of  that  other  Leander.  .  .  .  God,  I 
would  swim  twenty  Hellesponts  to  get  to  you. 
.  .  .  No  waters  could  drown  me  if  I  were  coming 
to  you.  .  .  .  No  waters  can  quench  love,  love 
that  is  a  deathless  fire.  God !  If  you  were  mine. 
...     if  you  were  mine.   .    .    . !" 

His  voice  tumbled  to  incoherencies  with  the 
urgency  of  his  desire.  He  pressed  wild  kisses  upon 
the  slim  trembling  body  he  held,  pouring  forth  his 
passion  in  hot,  broken  words. 

Desiree's  senses  reeled.  It  seemed  as  if  upon 
her  happy  careless  life  the  very  elements  had  sud- 
denly been  let  loose,  fire  in  fury,  raving  winds. 
Only  the  kindly  earth  seemed  solid  beneath  her 
feet.  .  .  .  Was  this  love,  this  searing,  devouring 
flame,  that  scorched,  that  outraged?  .  .  .  Oh, 
how  dared  he?  .  .  .  how  dared  he?  His  clasp 
was  like  iron.  He  paid  no  heed  to  the  thrusting 
protest  of  her  hands.  Her  voice  choked  in  her 
throat  as  she  strove  for  speech. 

"Oh,  let  me  go !    Let  me  go !    How  dare  you ? ' ' 

Nothing  in  her  responded  to  the  leaping  fire  of 
his  claim.  All  throbbing  pulses  had  chilled  to  a 
deadly  fear  and  an  anger  which  strove  to  over- 
master that  fear.  If  Lord  Garry  had  seen  her  now 
he  would  not  have  called  her  fully  armed.  She 
felt  young,  helpless,  desperately  ignorant  of  the 
forces  imloosened  against  her. 


68  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I'll  never  let  you  go.  You  are  mine — mine!'* 
cried  the  low,  thick  voice  she  scarcely  recognized. 

If  this  were  love  it  was  repellent,  hateful.  She 
would  have  none  of  it.  It  terrified  and  disgusted 
her.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  in  the  clutches  of 
some  odious  nightmare  from  which  she  would  pres- 
ently awake  to  safe  normality :  as  if  this  could  not 
possibly  be  the  dear  familiar  Bluebell  Wood,  known 
and  loved  from  childhood:  as  if  it  were  not  she, 
Desiree  Hasard,  but  some  dream-person  who  was 
held  there  staring  into  the  unveiled  face  of  Passion 
and  finding  it  a  Gorgon's  head  of  petrifying  ugli- 
ness.    She  struggled  anew  to  free  herself. 

"  No !"  muttered  Leander.  ' '  No.  You  are  mine, 
mine,  mine!" 

Suddenly  her  lips  trembled.  "You're  frighten- 
ing me, "  she  said  in  a  quavering  little  voice. 

The  touch  of  tears  fell  cool  upon  his  passion, 
melting  him  instantly  to  a  shocked  realization  of 
his  madness.  He  released  her  as  abruptly  as  he 
had  clutched  her  and  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  dazed 
look  in  his  eyes.  She  swayed  as  he  let  her  go, 
but  shrank  back  against  the  beech-trunk  for 
support  as  he  put  out  an  involuntary  hand  to 
steady  her. 

"No,  no,  you  mustn't  touch  me  again,"  she 
whispered,  her  eyes  dark  with  fear,  her  face  very 
white. 

He  flushed  and  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets. 

"You're  safe  now,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "For- 
give me  if  you  can.     I  didn't  mean  to  frighten  you. 


"Something  on  a  Leash"  69 

But  you  don't  know.  .  .  .  You  don't  know. 
.  .  .  "  He  broke  off  and  bit  his  lip,  looking  at 
her  with  a  queer  searching  gaze  as  if  he  would  read 
something  in  her  face  that  was  not  yet  written 
there.  "You  mustn't  play  with  fire,"  he  broke 
out  with  a  jangHng  laugh.  "It's  dangerous. 
You  might  bum  your  pretty  fingers.  You  nearly 
did.  .  .  .  You  see  I  made  the  mistake  of 
thinking  that  you  had  a  Greek  soul  in  your  white 
English  body. " 

"  If  to  have  a  Greek  soul  is  to  behave  as  you  did 
just  now,  I'm  thankful  I  haven't, "  said  Desiree, 
with  a  trembling  show  of  spirit. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  without  speak- 
ing. Life  had  changed  since  he  gazed  at  her  across 
the  bluebells  but  a  few  minutes  before :  there  was 
a  crushed  space  of  broken  stems  and  trampled 
blossoms  where  he  had  knelt.  Had  he  crushed 
irrevocably  other  and  frailer  blooms  by  his  folly? 
Had  he  been  mad,  incredibly  mad.  How  could  he 
have  imagined  for  an  instant ? 

"You  know  nothing  of  love,"  he  thrust  at  her 
suddenly.  "How  could  you?  .  .  .  But  I — 
you  go  to  my  head  hke  wine.  I  am  drunk  with 
love  of  you,  insane,  intolerable  doubtless,  but  you 
must  forgive  me. "  Suddenly  he  fell  at  her  feet, 
pressing  his  lips  to  the  hem  of  her  white  skirt, 
kissing  her  little  white  shoes  in  his  abasement. 
"Forgive  me.  .  .  .  Only  forgive  me.  I  shan't 
transgress  again.  Oh,  be  good  to  me.  Be  good 
to  me.     Don't   cast   me   adrift.     Don't   let  me 


70  The  Beloved  Sinner 

starve  for  a  sight  of  you.  .  .  .  Forgive  me  and 
I'll  be  as  English,  as  block-like  as  I  can. " 

Desiree  looked  down  at  the  kneeling  figure  with 
mingled  emotions.  She  felt  awkward  and  un- 
comfortable, but  no  longer  afraid.  A  touch  of 
anger  warred  with  the  pity  which  welled  from  some 
newly-stirred  depth  of  her  womanhood.  Her  chief 
desire  at  the  moment  was  to  return  to  the  safe  com- 
monplaces of  every  day.  But  how  attain  normal- 
ity without  touching  the  ridiculous? 

' '  Please  get  up, "  she  said  quietly.  * '  If  any  one 
were  to  see  you " 

"I  don't  care  if  the  whole  world  saw  me.  It  is 
where  I  always  am  in  spirit,  at  your  feet. " 

"Oh,  are  you?"  said  Desiree  dubiously.  "But 
I  don't  want  you  at  my  feet.  I  want  you  to  get 
up  and  be  sensible. " 

"To  be  sensible  is  to  be  dead,"  cried  Leander. 
"I  shan't  get  up  until  you  forgive  me. " 

He  caught  at  her  skirt,  dropping  it  abruptly  as 
she  paled  and  shivered. 

"Before  God  I  never  meant  to  frighten  you," 
he  said  very  low.  "I  didn't  know.  .  .  .  I  beg 
of  you  to  forgive  me.  "  Suddenly  he  poured  out 
penitence  as  fiery  as  his  declarations  had  been, 
calling  himself  every  uncouth  savage  name  his 
wide  vocabulary  could  attain,  craving  pardon  this 
time  with  his  whole  heart. 

"I  will  forgive  you.  I  do  forgive  you,"  cried 
Desiree,  half -laughing,  half -crying.  "Only  do 
get  up  and  be  ordinary  again. " 


"Something  on  a  Leash"  71 

"As  long  as  you  love  no  one  else,  I  am  safe, "  he 
said.  "You  will  come  back  to  me.  .  .  .  Say 
you  will,  you  little  golden  thing!  You  hold  my 
heart  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand ! ' '  He  rose  slowly. 
The  knees  of  his  trousers  were  stained  green  where 
he  had  knelt  among  the  bluebells. 

Desiree's  eyes  fell  on  the  mark.  "You  can't  go 
to  the  Howards'  like  that, "  she  cried  impulsively. 

It  was  an  absurd  anti-climax.  They  had  not 
been  able  to  skirt  the  ridiculous  after  all.  He  looked 
down  and  flushed  an  angry  red.  "I  had  forgotten 
their  very  existence.  I  wish  they  were  in  the 
Styic  and  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  world  but 
you  and  me. " 

"That  would  be  very  dull,"  returned  Desiree, 
with  an  attempt  at  lightness. 

"For  you  perhaps  .  .  .  and  yet.  .  .  .  Do 
you  really  think  I  could  go  anywhere  today  after 
touching  heaven  and  hell?"  he  cried  scornfully. 

Desiree  was  shaken  with  an  hysterical  desire  to 
laugh.  "You  use  such  big  words,"  she  said  in- 
coherently.    "You'll  have  none  left " 

"I  was  in  heaven  when  I  held  you  in  my  arms. 
I  was  in  hell  when  you  shrank  from  me,"  he  an- 
swered slowly. 

There  was  a  ring  of  pain  in  his  voice  that  checked 
her  nervous  impulse.  Truly  today  she  had 
touched  forces  of  which  she  had  hitherto  been 
unaware.  All  at  once  she  felt  very  tired.  She 
wanted  to  end  the  scene,  but  did  not  know  how  to 
do  it.     Leander  Wing  saved  her  the  trouble. 


72  The  Beloved  Sinner 

' '  I  hope  you  will  never  suffer  as  I  have  suffered 
today, "  he  said,  in  a  tone  which  sounded  as  if  he 
hoped  she  would:  then  turned  and  left  her.  De- 
siree  shivered  again  as  she  watched  his  retreating 
form.  She  wanted  to  say  something  kind,  but 
could  think  of  nothing.  Her  mind  felt  blank  and 
exhausted.  Her  eyes  lit  upon  the  tennis  racquets, 
half-hidden  among  the  springing  bluebells. 

"You're  forgetting  your  racquet,"  she  called 
after  him. 

He  did  not  hear  her.  He  had  reached  the  stile, 
vaulted  it,  and  was  out  of  sight.  She  picked  up 
her  own  and  fled  in  the  direction  of  the  Croft.  .  .  . 

When  she  returned  in  the  evening  she  was  sur- 
rounded by  a  bodyguard  of  Challoners  and  How- 
ards. She  did  not  go  through  the  Bluebell  Wood. 
She  felt  that  Leander  Wing  had  smirched  its 
sweet  enchantment  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  VI 


BLUE   SOCKS 


Desir^e  was  slipping  a  blue  ribbon  through  her 
hair  when  the  dinner-gong  sounded.  It  was  an 
old  Chinese  gong  which  Lord  Garry  had  brought 
home  from  one  of  his  wanderings.  Tonight  its 
mellow  boom  had  a  sound  of  portent  as  it  echoed 
through  the  winding  passages  of  the  old  house. 
With  an  unwonted  touch  of  imagination  the  girl 
felt  as  if  it  were  sounding  the  knell  of  her  own  care- 
less youth.  That  which  had  happened  today 
had  changed,  had  ended  something  for  ever.  She 
who  has  looked  upon  passion  is  no  longer  a  child. 
In  a  few  packed  moments  Desiree  had  taken  many 
steps  towards  the  stature  of  womanhood.  She  had 
left  behind  her  a  happy  ignorance  which  she  could 
never  again  recapture.  It  still  seemed  unbeliev- 
able that  it  was  she,  Desiree  Hasard,  who  had 
been  through  that  wild  scene  in  the  wood.  .  .  . 
Did  every  ordinary  exterior  hide  such  possibili- 
ties? What  a  vista  of  uncertainty  opened  up  at 
the  thought !   .    .    . 

The  dream-like  sense  lingered  with  her  as  she 
73 


74  The  Beloved  Sinner 

ran  quickly  down  the  shallow  old  stairs,  thrusting  a 
pink  rose  through  her  belt  as  she  went 

"So  sorry  to  be  late,"  she  cried  as  she  entered 
the  drawing-room.  "We had  to  finish  a  most  ex- 
citing set." 

"The  echoes  of  the  gong  have  scarcely  died 
away, "  said  her  father  indulgently,  offering  his  arm 
to  his  wife. 

Lady  Brigid  smiled  as  she  took  it,  thinking  that 
in  the  chequered  history  of  the  old  house  no  fairer 
vision  had  ever  passed  through  its  doors  than  her 
own  child. 

Desir6e  tucked  her  hand  through  her  father's 
other  arm  and  together  the  three  went  into  the 
dining-room.  The  little  ceremony  was  never 
omitted. 

Dinner  was  always  a  pleasant  meal  at  the 
Rectory.  By  mutual  consent  nothing  jarring 
ever  obtruded  itself  there.  Each  contributed 
his  or  her  share  of  the  odd  or  amusing  in- 
cidents of  the  day.  Matters  parochial  were 
discussed  only  when  they  were  alone,  and  not 
even  then  if  they  were  of  a  disturbing  char- 
acter. 

As  a  rule  it  was  Desiree  who  talked  most,  but 
tonight  she  seemed  content  to  play  listener. 
Presently  the  subject  veered  round  to  St.  Osyth's. 

"King  Charles's  head,"  said  Desiree,  looking  up 
with  a  smile.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  about 
the  screen.  Daddy?" 

"Ludlow  said  that  you  had  decided  to  give  up 


Blue  Socks  75 

the  idea  for  the  present, "  Lady  Brigid  put  in 
quickly. 

"I'm  afraid  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought, 
my  dear.  I  consented,  under  protest,  to  leave 
the  matter  in  abeyance  for  the  moment.  Still, 
I  feel  half -pledged  to  Wing ....  I  fear  I  may 
have  raised  hopes  ...  he  seems  to  count  upon 
being  given  the  commission.    .    .    .  " 

"Oh,  but — "  Desiree  began,  then  stopped. 

"Ludlow  seemed  very  definite." 

"He  is  a  man  of  the  world,  my  dear,  and  men  of 
the  world  are  necessarily — mundane, "  said  the 
Rector,  with  a  smile.  "He  takes  limited  views. 
His  faith  would  not  move  a  mustard-seed,  much  less 
a  mountain.  It  is  nothing  to  him  if  I  choose  to 
make  myself  responsible  for  the  screen.  " 

"Oh,  but — "  it  was  Lady  Brigid  who  began  this 
time,  and  then  stopped.  The  eyes  of  the  mother 
and  daughter  met  with  a  gleam  of  mutual  under- 
standing. 

"Would  you  not  like  to  give  a  contribution  to- 
wards it  out  of  your  fortime,  Brigid?"  asked  the 
Rector,  gently  teasing.  It  was  a  point  of  honour 
with  him  never  to  interfere  with  his  wife's  manage- 
ment of  her  own  affairs. 

Lady  Brigid's  colour  deepened  as  she  looked  at 
him  and  shook  hdv  head.  "I'm  afraid  I  can't, 
Noel.  All  my  spare  pennies  are  going  to  help 
Dede  to  accept  Monica's  invitation." 

"Mother!     The  impossible?     Not  really?" 

"For  the  last  time, "  answered  Lady  Brigid  in  as 


76  The  Beloved  Sinner 

excited  a  tone  as  the  girl's,  Desiree's  quick  delight 
reflected  in  her  face. 

"There's  no  one  like  you!"  Desiree  breathed, 
"Oh,  mother!"     She  gave  a  long  sigh  of  relief  and 

joy- 

' ' Oh,  daughter !  Sure  I'd  give  you  the  stars  out 
of  heaven  if  I  could!"  Lady  Brigid  murmured, 
unwontedly  Irish. 

"Don't  you  think  the  money  would  be  better 
expended  on  St.  Osyth's  than  on  a  London  sea- 
son?" the  Rector  put  in,  still  in  that  tone  of  quiet 
raillery. 

"No,  I  don't,"  answered  Desiree  with  great 
decision.  "There  is  always  a  chance  of  gleaning 
money  somewhere  for  St.  Osyth's,  but  I  may  never 
have  another  opportunity  of  seeing  what  a  London 
season  is  like!" 

"Would  that  be  an  inestimable  loss?" 

"Inestimable!"  cried  Desiree.  "You  always 
think  of  the  right  word,  Daddy!"  She  looked 
across  at  him  and  laughed,  quite  restored  to  her  old 
poise.  A  chance  word  of  Lady  Brigid's  brought 
back  the  afternoon's  experience  with  a  rush. 

"I  thought  Mr.  Wing  was  going  to  the  Croft 
today,"  she  said.  "I  saw  him  about  half -past 
five  wandering  across  the  salt-marshes." 

"He  left  us  a  little  after  three, "  the  Rector  said. 
*'He  pleaded  an  engagement  and  begged  to  be 
excused.  He  almost  ran  from  the  studio,  bare- 
headed, with  a  tennis  racquet  in  his  hand.  Did 
you  see  him,  Ded6?" 


Blue  Socks  77 

"Yes,"  Desirle  answered  quickly,  holding  her 
hands  tightly  clasped  in  her  lap.  "I  met  him  on 
the  road.  We  walked  as  far  as  the  Bluebell  Wood 
together.  .  .  .  Then  he  changed,  his  mind  and 
went  back." 

"Did  he  give  any  reason  for  such  extraordinary 
behaviour?" 

"Does  genius  ever  give  reasons  for  its  eccentrici- 
ties, Daddy?  You  say  Mr.  Wing  is  a  genius.  He 
certainly  can't  be  judged  by  ordinary  standards. 
He  is  too  erratic." 

Lady  Brigid  said  nothing.  Her  eyes  scanned 
Desiree's  face  as  if  she  would  read  its  innermost, 
secret.  Afterwards  in  the  drawing-room  she  put  a 
gentle  finger  under  the  girl's  chin  and  tilted  the 
delicately-tinted  face  towards  her. 

"Did  Mr.  Wing  make  love  to  you  today,  my 
chicken?" 

"Yes,  mother.   .    .    .     How  did  you  know?" 

Desir6e  suddenly  hid  her  hot  face  against  the 
comfortable  shoulder  which  had  been  her  refuge 
from  every  trouble  until  a  year  or  two  ago. 

"Mothers  know  more  than  they're  supposed 
to,"  said  Lady  Brigid  softly.  "Did  you  like 
it?" 

"No,  I  hated  it,"  cried  Desiree  vehemently. 
She  paused  on  the  brink  of  speech,  but  held  back. 
Some  instinct  warned  her  that,  much  as  her  mother 
might  know,  she  would  not  understand  and  would 
most  certainly  deplore  Leander  Wing's  mad  out- 
burst.    Desiree  deplored  it  too,  but  still  she  felt 


78  The  Beloved  Sinner 

an  impression  of  new  knowledge,  of  an  awakening 
that  subtly  mingled  sensations  not  altogether 
unpleasant.  No,  her  mother  would  not  under- 
stand. Besides  she  could  not  tell  any  one  how  he 
had  held  her,  kissed  her ....  Her  whole  body 
burned  at  the  thought. 

Lady  Brigid  was  satisfied.  Love  had  not  un- 
sealed the  eyes  of  her  little  girl  as  yet.  When  he 
did 

"That's  all  right,"  she  said,  stooping  to  kiss  the 
hot  cheek  nearest  her.  "When  the  real  thing 
comes,  belovedest,  you  will  know  and  rejoice,  as 
I  did.  'Terrible  as  an  army  with  banners,'"  she 
quoted  softly,  '"but  overwhelmingly  glorious  in 
his  array. ' "  For  a  moment  of  happy  communion 
the  two  faces  lay  pressed  against  each  other  in 
silence.  Then  Lady  Brigid  raised  her  head,  and 
put  the  girl  away  from  her  with  a  little  squeeze  of 
her  shoulders. 

"Now  let's  talk  chiffons,"  she  said.  "What 
exactly  is  a  tea-frock,  and  do  you  think  you'll  need 
one?" 

She  had  not  wanted  Desiree  to  be  the  first  to 
draw  away.  In  spite  of  her  disappointment  at 
Lord  Garry's  advice  her  cup  was  very  full  tonight. 
Desiree  was  crystal-clear.  That  sufficed.  She 
threw  herself  whole-heartedly  into  the  discussion  of 
frocks  and  frills.   .    .    . 


In  the  study  two  men  confronted  each  other, 


Blue  Socks  79 

each  subtly  typical  of  his  class  and  caste.  By  the 
table  stood  a  pale,  shamefaced  youth,  twisting  his 
cap  nervously  in  his  hands  and  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  of  his  arbiters  with  eyes  dark  and 
frightened  as  a  hare's. 

Twilight  shadowed  the  old  brown  room.  It 
dimmed  the  already  subdued  colours  of  the  books 
which  lined  it,  and  dulled  the  gold  of  the  beautiful 
little  triptych  after  Fra  Angelico  that  hung  over 
the  chimney-piece.  Narcissi  gleamed,  starlike, 
from  a  porcelain  bowl  beneath  it  and  shook  the 
incense  of  their  sweetness  upon  the  air.  Wafts 
of  garden  perfume  came  in  through  the  open  win- 
dows. In  the  clear  evening  sky,  now  faded  to  a 
delicate  green,  a  single  star  trembled. 

The  very  atmosphere  of  the  room  irritated  Mr. 
Woolridge.  It  was  scented,  papistical.  He  had 
said  his  say.  He  wanted  to  get  away.  He  made 
a  blundering  movement  forward. 

'  *  I  wish  you  would  sit  down  and  let  us  finish  our 
discussion  quietly, "  said  the  Rector  in  his  clear, 
well-bred  voice.     "I'll  ring  for  Hghts " 

"Light  enough  to  discuss  deeds  of  darkness," 
answered  Mr.  Woolridge,  subsiding  again  into  his 
chair. 

He  was  a  florid,  square-built  man,  narrow  in  his 
views,  bitter  in  his  creed.  Desiree  said  he  looked 
as  if  he  had  been  cut  out  of  a  block  of  wood  and 
coloured  by  a  child.  He  was  now  penetrated  by 
conflicting  emotions :  anger  with  his  peccant  shop- 
assistant,  secret  delight  at  having  in  his  person  a 


8o  The  Beloved  Sinner 

legitimate  grievance  against  the  church  of  which 
he  so  vehemently  disapproved,  and  a  very  natural 
distaste  to  offending  one  of  his  best  customers. 
Man  and  merchant  struggled  for  mastery. 

"Seems  to  me  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said, 
sir,"  he  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  finality. 

"Pardon  me.  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  more 
to  be  said.  I  have  heard  your  account  of  this — 
painful  occurrence.     I  have  not  yet  heard  Tom's. " 

Tom  made  an  awkward  movement,  but  said 
nothing. 

"Heard  Tom's?  What  has  that  to  do  with  it? 
Why,  I  caught  him  red-handed. ' '  Mr.  [Woolridge's 
eyes  bulged  with  astonishment.  "He  had  the 
money  out  o'  the  till  in  his  pocket!  You  can't 
get  over  that,  Mr.  Hasard.  The  eighth  command- 
ment ain't  to  be  juggle^  with ! " 

"I  have  no  desire  to  juggle  with  any  of  the 
commandments,  but  I  confess  that  I  should  like 
to  hear  what  Tom  has  to  say  for  himself. " 

"Speak  up,  thief,  and  tell  your  clergyman  how 
you've  carried  out  his  teaching,"  said  Mr.  Wool- 
ridge,  letting  his  feelings  overmaster  him. 

"Please,  Mr.  Woolridge,"  said  Noel  Hasard  in  a 
voice  that  silenced  the  other  for  a  moment.  ' '  Now, 
Tom,  you  have  confessed  that  you  stole  this 
money.  Tell  me,  if  you  can,  why  you  did  such  a 
thing." 

The  boy  took  a  step  forward.  His  face  worked : 
he  twisted  his  cap  round  and  round  in  his  trembling 
hands. 


Blue  Socks  8i 

"I  never  meant  to  steal  it,  sir.  I  only  intended 
to  borrow  it.  I'd  have  paid  it  all  back,  sir,  every 
penny.  Before  God,  sir,  I  never  meant  to  steal. " 
His  voice  grew  shrill,  and  broke. 

"That  Name  must  not  be  taken  lightly  on  your 
lips,  Tom,"  said  the  Rector  sternly. 

' '  I  didn't  mean  to  take  it  lightly,  sir.  You  know 
I  don't  swear.  This  is  the  first  time,  the  only  time 
as  I've  ever  done  anything  real  wrong,  and  I  never 
meant  it,  sir.  I  only  meant  to  borrow  it.  I  never 
meant  to  steal." 

"Takin'  money  what  don't  belong  to  you  can't 
be  called  borrowing,"  said  Mr.  Woolridge  gruffly. 

"Why  did  you  take  this  money,  Tom?"  The 
Rector's  voice  had  a  gentler  note. 

"To— to  pay  a  bill,  sir." 

"What  was  the  bill  for?" 

Tom  fumbled  in  his  pocket  and  drew  forth  a 
crumpled  bit  of  paper. 

"  'Twas  at  Elliots',"  he  mumbled. 

"Gauds  and  vanities,"  sniffed  Mr.  Woolridge. 
The  Rector  unfolded  the  bill  and  read  the  items : 
a  straw  hat,  a  blue  silk  tie,  blue  socks,  a  pair  of 
brown  shoes.     Total,  18/9. 

"How  much  money  did  Tom  take,  Mr.  Wool- 
ridge?" 

"Eighteen  and  ninepence,  sir." 

The  Rector  handed  him  the  bill.  "That  seems 
to  confirm  the  boy's  story, "  he  said  quietly.  * '  He 
only  took  what  was  necessary  to  pay  the  bill. 
Why  he  did  not  come  to  me  or  to  some  other  friend 


82  The  Beloved  Sinner 

to  borrow  the  money  I  cannot  conjecture,  but 
there  it  is.  He  made  the  false  step  and  fell.  I'll 
take  his  word  for  it  that  he  meant  to  pay  it  back 
honestly.  Will  you  not  do  the  same  and  give 
him  another  chance?" 

"Another  chance  at  my  till?     No  fear!" 

"And  yet  you  say  daily,  as  I  do,  'Forgive  us 
our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass 
against  us,"  said  Noel  Hasard  gently. 

"I  never  robbed  any  man  of  his  hard-earned 
money." 

"Then  out  of  your  greater  righteousness  you 
can  afford  to  give  this  poor  weak  lad  a  chance  to 
redeem  himself,  to  recover  his  lost  self-respect?" 

"To  buy  more  blew  socks!"  snorted  Mr. 
Woolridge.  "Blew  socks  indeed!  Omary  grey 
ones  are  good  enough  for  honest  folk  like  me. 
No,  Mr.  Hasard,  sir.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  make  an 
example  of  Thomas  Herring;  to  learn  him  the 
difference  between  meanin'  and  doin' " 

"  Between  our  acts  and  our  intentions  ever, 
There  is  a  bridge  without  a  parapet," 

quoted  the  Rector.  "Surely  you  are  not  going 
to  thrust  poor  Tom  into  the  abyss. " 

"I'm  goin'  to  chasten  him  with  a  prosecution 
back  into  the  ways  of  grace." 

"You  are  far  more  likely  to  plunge  him  irrevo- 
cably into  the  ways  of  sin,"  said  Noel  Hasard,  with 
a  ring  of  authority  in  his  voice.  "I  must  ask  you, 
Mr.  Woolridge,  once  for  all,  to  put  the  idea  of 


Blue  Socks  83 

prosecuting  Tom  out  of  your  head,  if  not  for  his 
own  sake,  then  for  his  poor  mother's.  You  are 
at  no  loss.  You  have  your  money  intact.  I  beg 
of  you  to  give  the  boy  another  chance.  Do  not 
put  the  prison  brand  upon  him  just  as  he  is  begin- 
ning life.  .  .  .  No,  don't  answer  hastily. 
Think  the  matter  over  for  a  moment. " 

Mr.  Woolridge  bent  a  suffused  face  and  gazed 
into  the  pattern  of  the  old  Persian  rug  at  his  feet 
as  if  he  would  wrest  decision  from  its  dim  intri- 
cacies. Thought  raced  thought  through  his  mind. 
.  .  .  The  law  was  a  costly  weapon.  .  .  .  The 
Rectory  custom  was  worth  keeping.  .  .  .  Per- 
haps Tom  would  be  punished  enough  by  dis- 
missal from  a  good  situation.  He'd  make  a  point 
of  telling  everyone  why  he'd  sacked  him,  too! 
The  young  scoundrel  wouldn't  be  able  to  show 
his  nose  in  Bressy  again  in  a  hurry!  ...  Blew 
socks  indeed !   .    .    .    . 

The  brief  silence  hung  heavily.  Tom's  heart 
beat  so  loudly  that  it  drowned  all  other  sounds 
for  him,  even  the  singing  of  a  belated  thrush 
in  a  lilac-bush  by  the  window,  who  poured  his 
evening  ecstasy,  liquid  as  any  nightingale's, 
into  a  clean,  scented  world  of  half-lights  and 
velvet  shadows  and  the  wonder  and  mystery  of 
approaching  night. 

The  Rector's  heart  was  moved  to  pity  for  the 
boy  who  stood  there,  sullen  now  in  his  shame, 
dumb  with  misery  at  the  thought  of  going  to  prison. 
How   often  in   his  long  ministry  had  he  heard 


84  The  Beloved  Sinner 

the  despairing  plea,  "I  didn't  mean  it!"  That 
miserable  excuse  which  is  no  excuse.  How  often 
had  he  known  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  which 
is  the  crystallization  of  character  into  action,  fall 
pitifully  from  high  endeavour!  He  had  seen  too 
much  of  human  frailty  to  be  hard  on  the  erring. 
He  had  schooled  himself  to  conquer  a  fastidious 
delicacy,  and  to  continue  to  love  the  sinner  while 
hating  the  sin;  yet  it  was  with  a  sense  of  bitter 
disappointment  that  he  now  numbered  Tom 
Herring  among  those  to  be  condoned.  .  .  .  He 
had  had  high  hopes  of  Tom.  He  had  thought  him 
a  lad  of  sterling  worth.  .  .  .  What  had  induced 
him  to  steal  for  the  sake  of  buying  articles  which 
seemed  absolutely  unnecessary?  .  .  .  There 
must  be  something  beneath  the  bald  outline  he 
had  heard.  Why,  why,  had  not  Tom  come  to  him  ? 
Had  he  ever  been  hard  on  the  boys?  Had  he  not 
always  tried  to  sympathize  with  them,  to  encour- 
age them  to  come  to  him  in  time  of  trouble?  He 
felt  a  pricking  sense  of  failure,  as  if  Tom's  misde- 
meanour were  in  some  way  to  be  laid  at  his  door.  .  . . 

Mr.  Woolridge  raised  his  head  with  reluctant 
decision. 

"Well,  sir,  as  you  make  such  a  point  of  it  I 
won't  prosecute,  though  I  don't  hold  with  these 
soft  dealin's.  Sin  is  vsin,  and  them  as  isn't  chas- 
tised with  whips  will  be  chastened  with  scorpions. 
You  take  the  responsibility,  Mr.  Hasard,  of  havin' 
Tom  chastised  with  scorpions  later  on,  if  not 
worse." 


Blue  Socks  85 

"I  take  the  responsibility, "  returned  the  Rector 
slowly.  "Thank  you,  Mr.  Woolridge.  You  will 
never  regret  your  leniency." 

"I  hope  not.  .  .  .  I'm  not  going  to  take 
Tom  back,  mind  you. " 

"I  suppose  we  could  scarcely  hope  for  that. 
Could  we,  Tom?" 

The  boy  tried  to  speak.  "I  don't  hope  it,  sir. 
Thank  you,  Mr.  Woolridge.  You'll  never — 
I'll — "  the  words  choked  in  his  throat. 

"His  mother  will  be  grateful  to  you,  Mr.  Wool- 
ridge.    She  has  had  a  hard  life. " 

"So  has  most  of  us,  sir."  Mr.  Woolridge 
rose,  relieved  that  he  could  escape  at  last.  Satis- 
faction began  to  swell  within  him.  He  had  spoken 
to  the  Rector  as  man  to  man.  He  had  pelted 
him  with  a  few  home- truths  about  sin:  had 
hinted  at  his  own  righteous  convictions;  and  at 
the  same  time  had  done  nothing  to  alienate  good 
custom,  at  least  with  gentlefolk  as  was  gentle- 
folk. He  realized  that  he  could  never  have  spoken 
so  frankly  to  Mrs.  Mawson  or  her  like,  reluct- 
antly as  he  made  the  admission.  He  had  one 
more  indictment  and  that,  he  felt  proudly,  rather 
an  up-to-date  one,  to  thrust  at  Tom  before  he 
went. 

"You'll  be  disappointed  in  Thomas  Herring 
yet,  Mr.  Hasard, "  he  said,  with  his  hand  on  the 
door.  * '  Beware  of  the  eternal  female,  sir.  Those 
that  rutis  after  the  petticoats  of  the  eternal  fe- 
male come  to  no  good." 


86  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Yet  but  for  them  neither  you  nor  I  would  be 
in  the  world,  Mr.  Woolridge. "  The  Rector  could 
afford  the  little  parry  in  his  relief. 

Mr.  Woolridge  shut  the  door  with  a  determina- 
tion that  was  closely  akin  to  a  bang. 

When  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  had  died  away, 
Noel  Hasard  turned  to  the  boy,  who  glanced  this 
way  and  that  as-  if  for  escape. 

"Tom,  Tom,  why  didn't  you  come  to  me?" 

There  was  nothing  but  love  and  gentleness  in  his 
tone.  It  went  straight  to  Tom's  heart.  In  a 
moment  he  was  on  his  knees  before  the  man  whom 
he  revered  above  all  others,  pouring  forth  an  in- 
coherent stream  of  penitent  regret. 

Mr.  Woolridge  had  hit  the  mark  with  his 
"eternal  female."  Tom  had  but  obeyed  the 
natural  instinct  of  the  young  male  animal  in  spring. 
He  had  decked  himself  in  brown  shoes  and  blue 
socks  to  please  the  eye  of  Tessie  Hart,  who  had 
laughed  at  his  country  clothes!  .  .  .  Elliot 
had  refused  to  give  him  credit.  He  had  been 
ashamed  to  ask  Mr.  Hasard  for  the  money,  and  so 
— and  so 

"Yet  you  were  not  ashamed  to  steal;  to  break 
one  of  God's  commandments. " 

"I  didn't  mean  to  break  it,  sir.  I  only  meant 
to  borrow  the  money, "  the  boy  persisted. 

The  Rector  sighed.  "Nevertheless  it  was  steal- 
ing, Tom.  You  deliberately  took  money  which 
did  not  belong  to  you.  There  is  no  minimizing 
that  fact.     Your  intentions  may  have  been  honest 


Blue  Socks  87 

enough,  but  your  act  was  the  act  of  a  thief.  Go 
on  your  knees  to  God,  my  lad,  rather  than  to  me,, 
and  ask  Him  to  forgive  your  sin!" 

Then  very  gently,  yet  with  a  tonic  ring  of  firm- 
ness in  his  tones,  he  tried  to  point  out  to  the  boy 
where  he  had  trailed  his  standard  in  the  mud,  and 
how  he  must  try,  with  God's  help,  to  raise  it 
again : — conscious  the  while  of  a  sense  of  failure  in 
his  own  teaching  that  such  abasement  of  the  ideals 
he  had  tried  to  instil  should  be  possible. 

"Is  Tessie  Hart  a  good  girl,  Tom?"  he  asked  at 
last. 

Tom  flushed.  "She's  as  pretty  as  a  picture  and 
as  cruel  as  a  cat.  She  do  tease  and  bewitch  till 
you  don't  know  whether  you  be  on  head  or  heels. " 

"Let  girls  alone  for  the  present.  Time  enough 
later  on,  when  you  find  the  real  thing,  the  good, 
true  girl  who  will  be  your  mate  and  comrade 
through  life." 

"But  how  am  I  to  find  her,  sir,  if  I  let  girls 
alone?"  asked  the  boy  with  an  earnestness  that 
checked  any  savour  of  impertinence. 

The  Rector  bit  his  lip.  Here  was  a  side 
of  life  on  which  he  felt  scarcely  qualified  to 
speak.  It  had  always  been  very  easy  for  him 
to  let  girls  alone  until  he  had  met  Brigid  Mas- 
sarene.  He  felt  as  if  a  sudden  gulf  separated 
him  from  Tom's  world  of  young  red  blood  and 
natural  instincts. 

"We  need  not  discuss  that  now,"  he  said. 
"I'll  lend  you  the  money  to  pay  Elliot's  bill.     You 


88  The  Beloved  Sinner 

can  repay  me  when  you  are  able,  and  you  must  give 
me  your  word  that  you  will  never  do  such  a  thing 
again.  Come  up  to  me  at  eleven  o'clock  to- 
morrow. I  shall  have  thought  of  some  opening 
for  you  by  then." 

He  felt  in  his  pockets.  Nothing  there.  He 
suddenly  remembered  an  urgent  case  of  illness  in 
Fish  Street  which  had  emptied  them  that  afternoon. 

"I'll  get  you  the  money,"  he  said,  leaving  the 
room  in  search  of  his  wife. 

Lady  Brigid  sat  at  an  open  window  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, her  busy  hands  idle  in  her  lap  for  once, 
wrapt  in  a  perfumed  twilight  of  content.  Desiree 
was  at  the  piano,  playing  Chopin  in  the  dusk.  No 
one  else  satisfied  the  unrest  which  throbbed  in  her 
veins  tonight,  roused  by  the  scene  to  which  her 
thoughts  went  back  again  and  again  with  half- 
fascinated  reluctance.  If  Leander  Wing  had  not 
been  Leander  Wing,  if  he  had  been  someone  else 
to  whom  that  mysterious  unknown  something  of 
which  she  had  been  hitherto  unaware  could  re- 
spond, what  then?   .    .    .     What  then?   .    .    . 

Her  hands  fell  upon  the  keys  with  a  little  crash 
as  her  father  entered  the  room. 

"That  you.  Daddy?" 

"I've  come  to  borrow  some  money,  Brigid  dear. 
Can  you  lend  me  eighteen  and  ninepence?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said.  It  was  her  invariable 
answer  to  his  demands.  She  had  never  failed  him 
yet. 

"What  a  funny  sum!     What  do  you  want  it 


Blue  Socks  89 

for?"  asked  Desiree  as  her  mother  left  the 
room. 

The  Rector  told  her.  Desir6e  was  silent  for  a 
moment.     Then : 

"Tessie  Hart  seems  to  be  a  sort  of  provincial 
Helen,"  she  said,  without  thinking. 

"Why  do  you  say  that,  my  dear?" 

"Well — because  Mr.  Wing  told  me  today  that 
he  wanted  to  paint  her.  He  says  she  has  a  pro- 
vocative face. " 

"Apparently,"  commented  the  Rector  drily. 
"She  seems  to  be  setting  the  young  men  of  my 
parish  by  the  ears.  I  fear  she  must  be  flighty — 
and  Mrs.  Bolton  is  so  respectable." 

"Who  could  be  more  respectable  than  you, 
Daddy?"  cried  Desiree,  kissing  the  cheek  nearest 
to  her,  "And  see  how  flighty  I  am!  .  .  .  Mr. 
Wing  has  a  Greek  soul,  which  accounts  for  a  lot. " 

"It  should,"  he  answered.  "I  hear  your 
mother.  I  will  be  back  presently."  He  went 
into  the  hall  to  intercept  his  wife. 

When  Lady  Brigid  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room  the  twilight  of  content  was  dispersed.  The 
thoughts  of  each  were  caught  back  into  the  money- 
web  once  more. 

Lady  Brigid's  mind  spun  from  Tom's  theft  to 
fevered  calculations  as  to  how  and  when  she  might 
expect  results  if  she  ventured  on  the  Sheba  specu- 
lation. 

Desiree  wondered  vaguely  how  much  she  really 
owed  Mrs.  Brabazon,  and  if  it  would  upset  her 


90  The  Beloved  Sinner 

mother  very  much  if  she  knew.  She  would  have 
to  come  to  her  in  the  end  probably,  but  there  was 
no  use  in  worrying  her  before  one  need.  Mrs. 
Brabazon  would  be  content  to  wait  until — when? 
Well,  the  future  always  holds  vast  potentialities 
for  Sweet  and  Twenty.   .    .    . 

The  Rector  did  not  go  back  to  the  drawing-room 
after  all.  When  Tom  had  left  he  sat  with  his  head 
in  his  hands  beneath  the  smiling  angels  of  the 
triptych,  pondering  over  the  sordid  little  tragic 
comedy  whose  fringe  he  had  touched;  searching, 
with  painful  introspection,  for  light  as  to  where  he 
had  failed ;  praying  for  guidance  lest  he  should  fail 
again.  .  .  .  Then  at  last  his  thoughts  wandered 
back  to  St.  Osyth's,  from  which  they  never  strayed 
very  far.  He  took  up  the  designs  for  the  screen 
from  the  table  where  they  lay  and  looked  at  them 
with  eyes  in  which  the  worried  look  gradually  gave 
place  to  an  expression  of  wistful  longing.   .    .    . 

So  beneath  the  happy  surface-ripple  of  these 
three  lives  flowed  a  troubling  undercurrent  of 
which  neither  of  the  others  was  aware,  closely  knit 
by  love ^. and  sympathy  as  they  were. 


CHAPTER  VII 


THE    STAR    SAPPHIRE 


Tom  Herring  did  not  present  himself  at  the 
Rectory  on  the  following  morning.  Instead  came 
a  note  borne  by  a  weeping  mother. 

Tom  could  not  face  the  shame  he  had  incurred 
in  Bressy.  He  had  run  away,  where,  his  mother 
did  not  know.  He  had  always  been  a  good  boy 
until  he  was  led  astray  by  hussies,  she  said  between 
sobs.  He  was  her  mainstay.  How  was  she  to  live 
now?     How  was  she  ever  to  hold  up  her  head? 

The  Rector  hastily  read  the  note,  which  said 
in  a  few  bald  words  that  Tom  would  never  forget 
his  kindness  and  that  he'd  work  his  fingers  to  the 
bone  till  he  paid  back  what  he  owed.  So  help 
him  God  he  never  would  steal  again,  but  he  must 
go  away,  and  there  was  no  use  looking  for  him. 

"There's  the  making  of  a  man  in  Tom,  Mrs. 
Herring,"  he  said  kindly.  "He'll  win  through 
yet,  never  fear.  You'll  hear  before  long  that  he's 
'making  good,'  as  the  Americans  say.  You'll  Hve 
to  be  proud  of  Tom  again.  ...  If  you  go  round 
to  Lady  Brigid  I'm  sure  that  she  will  find  you 
some  sewing  or  charing  to  do.  ..." 

91 


92  The  Beloved  Sinner 

So  another  pensioner  was  added  to  Lady  Brigid's 
list,  the  while  it  was  the  Rector  who  was  always 
most  fervently  remembered  in  Mrs.  Herring's 
prayers.  .  .  . 

The  days  spun  in  a  whirl  of  delighted  excitement 
for  Desiree,  punctuated  by  visits  to  Churchamp- 
ton,  a  bustling  seaport  town  which  contrasted 
vividly  with  the  half -forgotten  sleepiness  of  Bressy. 

Mrs.  Brabazon,  a  quiet  woman  with  a  manner 
which  brought  her  in  almost  as  much  custom  as  her 
clever  fingers,  had  set  up  in  Bressy  about  fifteen 
years  previously.  She  was  not  the  widow  that 
most  people  supposed  her  to  be,  but  only  Lady 
Brigid  knew  that  she  had  been  cruelly  deserted  by 
her  husband,  and  left  penniless,  with  a  delicate 
little  girl  to  support.  Touched  to  the  core  of  her 
warm  heart.  Lady  Brigid  had  exerted  her  influence 
to  the  utmost  in  Mrs.  Brabazon's  favour.  The 
dressmaking  business  grew  until  rising  ambition 
made  the  woman  leave  Bressy  to  set  up  on  a  larger 
scale  in  Churchampton,  adding  millinery,  lingerie, 
and  various  accessories  to  her  original  undertak- 
ing. She  often  declared  that  she  wished  she 
could  afford  to  dress  Lady  Brigid  and  Miss  Hasard 
for  nothing — "they  set  off  their  clothes  so!" 
But  one  must  live  and  a  delicate  child  needed 
luxuries  as  well  as  necessaries. 

For  the  past  year  or  so  Desiree  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  getting  everything  she  needed  through 
Mrs.  Brabazon.  ...  It  was  so  much  easier 
than  writing  to  shops.  .  .  .     But  Mrs.  Brabazon 


The  Star  Sapphire  93 

had  no  anxiety.  She  knew  that  her  money  was 
safe,  that  she  had  only  to  refer  the  matter  to 
Lady  Brigid  to  receive  a  cheque  by  return  of  post. 
She  could  afford  to  give  her  favourite  customer 
as  long  credit  as  she  wished,  especially  in  view  of 
this  new  order — Lady  Brigid's  order,  a  commis- 
sion into  which  she  threw  herself  heart  and  soul. 
It  was  a  delight  to  her  artistic  instincts  to  dress 
Desiree. 

Lady  Brigid's  tentative  suggestion  that  perhaps 
Miss  Knight  of  Bressy  might  make  some  of 
Desiree's  less  important  frocks  had  received  an 
emphatic  negative. 

"All  frocks  are  important  for  London, "  Desiree 
declared.  "I'll  have  as  few  as  possible,  but  they 
must  be  good.  You  don't  want  me  to  look 
frumpish  or  provincial,  do  you?  It  would  only 
reflect  on  you!  I'll  be  an  angel  of  economy  if 
you'll  let  me  get  all  my  things  at  Mrs.  Brabazon's. " 

Lady  Brigid  smiled  and  yielded  as  usual ;  but  her 
cheeks  bore  those  red  spots  of  excitement,  which 
worry  always  produced,  when  she  met  Desiree 
at  Mrs.  Brabazon's  after  a  short  but  trying  inter- 
view with  her  lawyer,  Mr.  Barnet. 

She  had  carried  her  point :  and  now  awaited  the 
result  of  her  investment.  The  Sheba  dividends 
were  to  be  paid  in  June:  double  what  she  had 
lately  received!  .  .  .  How  curiously  narrow  the 
legal  outlook  was!  Certainty,  dull,  cramping 
certainty  was  what  it  stood  for.  Glorious  possi- 
bilities, splendid  chances  for  the  courageous  to 


94  The  Beloved  Sinner 

snatch  at,  never  came  within  its  purblind  view. 
Mr.  Bamet  was  reliable,  no  doubt,  but  he  had 
no  imagination.  No  lawyer  had.  No  honest  one, 
at  least,  she  supposed.  It  just  occurred  to  her 
that  perhaps  the  dishonest  ones  suffered  from  a 
plethora  of  that  desirable  quality !  .  .  . 

On  Sunday  after  morning  service,  Leander 
Wing,  bareheaded  as  usual,  hung  about  Desiree's 
steps  until  she  had  dispensed  her  usual  greetings 
to  her  friends. 

"If  you've  really  forgiven  me  you'll  let  me  walk 
as  far  as  the  Rectory  gate  with  you, ' '  he  murmured. 

"You  may  if  you  like,"  she  answered  in  her 
clear  voice.  "I  hope  you  apologized  to  Mrs. 
Howard  for  not  turning  up  the  other  day. " 

"It  was  you  who  should  have  apologized,"  he 
said,  with  a  queer  little  laugh.  "It  was  all  your 
fault." 

Desiree  laughed  too.  It  was  a  relief  to  find  him 
normal  again.  "You're  all  the  same  from  Adam 
downwards!" 

"And  you  from  Eve,  with  your  apples  of  desire ! " 

"They  made  the  Garden  of  Eden  forbidden 
ground  for  us, "  said  Desiree  quickly.  "We  won't 
trespass  there,  please. " 

"As  you  wish.  You  can't  forbid  thoughts  from 
wandering,  though.  No  wall  is  high  enough  to 
keep  those  out,  no  notice-board  sufficiently  for- 
bidding."  Suddenly  his  tone  changed.  He 
looked  down  searchingly  at  her.  * '  Are  you  really  go- 
ing away  ?    Or  did  you  say  it  just  to  frighten  me  ? ' * 


The  Star  Sapphire  95 

The  hunger  in  his  voice  and  eyes  touched  De- 
•siree  to  a  careless  pity  beneath  her  own  bubbling 
happiness. 

"I  really  am  going  away.  Why  should  I  want 
to  frighten  you,  as  you  say  ?     It  was  you  who ' ' 

"Don't!  .  .  .     Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  London." 

The  unconcealed  joy  in  her  voice  pricked  him  to 
a  troubling  vision  of  the  possibilities  which  a  visit 
to  London  held. 

"Are  you  coming  back?"  he  cried  hoarsely. 

"Of  course  I'm  coming  back."  Her  tone  was 
<;ool,  and  light  as  dew. 

"When?" 

"When  my  visit  is  over." 

"When  will  that  be?" 

'  *  It's  on  the  lap  of  the  gods ! " 

"You're  happy  about  it?" 

"So  happy  that  I  want  to  sing  with  the  birds. " 
She  glanced  over  her  shoulder.  No  one  was 
nearer  than  Mrs.  Mawson,  who  stood  at  her  gate 
peering  after  them.  Tilting  her  head  upwards, 
Desiree  began  to  sing,  half  under  her  breath. 
Her  voice  was  silver  as  a  robin's  pipe:  her  throat 
quivered  like  a  bird's. 

"The  throstle  flutes  from  topmost  branch 

And  sets  his  whole  heart  free : 
The  lark  from  near  the  gates  of  heaven 

Shakes  down  his  ecstasy. 
The  wood-dove  croons  upon  the  pine 


96  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Her  message  day  by  day. 
She  calls  you  to  the  deep  green  wood 
And  coos,  "Tis  good,  'tis  good,  'tis  good!' 

Cast  here  your  care  away ! " 

"And  yet  you  are  leaving  it  all  for  the  roar  and 
reek  of  London!"  he  said  bitterly. 

"I'm  leaving  it  all  for  the  joy  and  colour  and 
delight  of  London, ' '  she  cried  happily.  " I've  had 
this  always.  I'm  coming  back  to  it  again.  I  want 
something  different.  Something  I  haven't  had 
before." 

"The  Apple  again!  .  .  .  Well,  I'll  go,  too.  I 
can't  get  on  without  a  sight  of  you. " 

* '  Oh,  but^- ' '  Desiree  stopped.  She  was  always 
having  to  bite  back  unconsidered  speech.  How 
could  she  tell  him  that  their  orbits  were  unlikely 
to  cross? 

"You  needn't  be  afraid.  I  shan't  worry  you. 
.  .  .  Sometimes,  perhaps,  I  shall  see  you  from  the 
gallery  of  a  theatre.  Sometimes  I  shall  stand  in 
the  crowd  at  a  door  and  watch  you  going  in  to  a 
ball." 

"I  should  hate  you  to  do  that,"  she  cried 
impulsively.  His  words  made  her  feel  that  she  was 
a  horrid  little  snob,  yet  she  knew  unmistakably 
that  the  possibility  of  those  hungry  eyes  burning 
upon  her  from  chance  crowd  or  gallery  would  do  a 
great  deal  to  tarnish  the  gold  of  her  wonderful 
visit. 

* '  You  won '  t  know, ' '  he  said.     * '  Why  should  you 


The  Star  Sapphire  97 

care?  What  is  it  to  you  what  I  do?  You  never 
will  care.  .  .  .    Will  you? "  he  shot  at  her  suddenly. 

The  thrust  took  her  aback.  She  did  not  want 
to  be  unkind.  She  wished  all  the  world  to  share 
her  joy,  yet  she  knew  instinctively  that  she  had 
nothing  to  give  Leander  Wing,  no  salve  for  his 
hurt,  but  rather  a  deeper  wound  which  she  shrank 
from  inflicting. 

"No,  I'm  afraid  I  can't — ^in  the  way  you  mean,  '* 
she  answered  gently.     "I'm  sorry.     I  am  indeed.  " 

"Thanks.  .  .  .  Your  little  sugary  sorrow.  .  .  . 
You  can't  cure  a  broken  heart  with  sweets, 
though!"  He  turned  abruptly,  leaving  her  hurt 
and  puzzled,  until  it  suddenly  occurred  to  her 
that  people  whose  hearts  are  really  broken  never 
talk  about  them.  She  had  not  meant  to  hurt 
him.  When  it  came  to  real  things  she  had  been 
honest  with  him.  For  the  rest,  it  had  only  been 
play,  as  with  the  other  boys.  Well,  she  had  had 
her  lesson.  She  would  trifle  with  things  on  leashes 
no  more.  .  .  . 

On  the  day  of  her  departure,  Lord  Garry  came 
with  a  pre-birthday  gift. 

"I  shall  probably  be  in  Russia  on  your  birthday, 
Dede, "  he  said,  "and  I  wanted  to  give  you  this 
myself.  It  belonged  to  my  mother.  It  will 
match  your  eyes  better  than  hers,  dear  soul,  which 
were  brown.  One  other  woman  wore  it  for  a  time 
— my  late  wife.  Her  fancy  for  it  was  brief,  so  you 
needn't  mind.  I  shall  like  to  think  of  it  on  your 
white  neck,  my  child.  " 


98  The  Beloved  Sinner 

There  had  been  moments  when  he  had  pictured 
it  on  the  white  neck  of  her  mother,  but  such  had 
long  ago  been  relegated  to  the  Dust-Heap  of  Things 
Better  Forgotten. 

Desir6e  opened  the  velvet  case  with  a  face  of 
delighted  excitement.  A  beautiful  star  sapphire 
set  in  brilliants  hung  from  a  slender  gold  chain, 
flashing  its  blue  rays  as  she  took  it  out  with  fingers 
that  trembled  with  joy. 

"Oh,  Cousin  Ludlow,  darling,  how  perfectly 
angelic  of  you!     I  must  kiss  you  for  it. " 

She  fiiuig  her  arms  round  his  neck  and  hugged 
him. 

"You  like  it?"  He  put  his  hands  on  her 
shoulders  and  kissed  each  glowing  cheek  lightly. 

"Keep  your  lips  for  your  lover,  Dede.  Let  no 
other  man  touch  them.     You'll  be  glad  later.  " 

Desiree  blushed.  ' '  I  love  it, "  she  said,  ignoring 
his  injunction.  "I  must  fly  and  dress  now. 
You'll  lunch  here,  of  course,  and  see  me  off  at 
the  station  afterwards.  The  Howards  are  coming, 
and  Dick  Challoner. " 

Lord  Garry  shook  his  head.  ' '  I  refuse  to  be  one 
of  a  crowd.  If  there's  anything  I  dislike  more  than 
meeting  people  at  a  train,  it  is  seeing  them  off. 
Besides  I  have  to  see  a  deputation  at  three  and  am 
lunching  at  the  Crown.  I'll  ask  your  mother  for  a 
cup  of  tea  later,  if  she'll  give  it  to  me. " 

' ' Oh,  do.  It  will  cheer  her  up.  I'm  afraid  she'll 
be  awfully  lonely.     I  wish  she  could  come,  too. " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it.     You  can't  persuade  me  that 


The  Star  Sapphire  99 

you  really  want  to  drag  your  unfortunate  mother 
into  your  escapades  with  the  enterprising.  Judy. " 

"Oh,  mother  never  spoils  things,  "  Desiree  cried. 
"* '  She  understands. ' ' 

"She  does,  bless  her, "  said  Lord  Garry.  "Still, 
■no  one  imderstands  you  as  I  do,  you  flibbertigibbet ! 
Your  foolish  parents  think  you  an  angel.  I  know 
you're  a  warm,  naughty  little  human  being! 
One  word  of  advice  before  you  go.  Put  on  asbes- 
tos gloves,  if  you  want  to  play  with  fire.  It's  a 
dangerous  game,  but  it's  been  humanity's  favourite 
pastime  ever  since  the  first  fire  was  kindled  out- 
side the  gates  of  Eden. " 

"Extraordinary  how  everyone's  mind  has  been 
running  on  Eden  lately.  First  Mr.  Wing  and  now 
you!"  Desiree  was  bubbling  over  with  gay  ex- 
citement. 

He  caught  a  fleeting  shoulder.  "What  was 
Wing  saying  about  Eden,  you  monkey?" 

She  wriggled  away,  laughing.  "Oh,  I  said  he 
was  like  Adam  and  he  said  I  was  like  Eve.  Some 
nonsense  of  that  sort. " 

"Adam  was  the  first  man  and  Eve  the  first 
woman,"  said  Lord  Garry  slowly.  "There  is  one 
in  the  world  for  each  of  us.  I  believe  he's  your 
first  man,  Dede,  though  I'm  not  at  all  sure  that 
you're  his  first  woman.  " 

"I  hope  he  won't  be  my  last,  at  any  rate," 
Desiree  laughed,  and  vanished.  .  .  , 

When  she  had  gone  Lady  Brigid  came  back  to 
an  empty  house  and  an  empty  life !    Though  work 


loo  The  Beloved  Sinner 

in  abundance  awaited  her  it  was  to  be  done  in  a 
world  grown  suddenly  grey.  Noel  had  gone  to 
visit  the  people  in  Fish  Street,  Bressy's  nearest 
approach  to  a  slum.  He  would  expect  her  to 
follow  him  with  some  comforts  she  had  promised, 
but  she  could  not  go  just  yet.  She  wandered 
into  the  Yew  Garden  and  sat  by  the  lily-pond, 
feeling  an  unwonted  sense  of  desolation,  as  if  she 
had  said  a  very  long  good-bye  to  her  beloved. 
It  was  to  be  a  long  good-bye,  too.  Desiree 
would  not  be  home  until  after  the  wedding  in 
July.  Perhaps  not  even  then.  Lady  Brigid  sent 
her  thoughts  yearning  after  her,  picturing  her 
on  the  various  stages  of  her  journey.  She  wished 
with  all  her  heart  that  she  could  have  gone 
with  her,  could  have  seen  for  a  little  while  her 
joys,  her  triumphs,  her  happy  plunge  into  life.  .  .  . 
Well,  Dede  was  to  have  her  chance  at  last. 
No  one  could  wrest  it  from  her  now,  what- 
ever happened.  She  could  take  her  place  with 
any  one,  thought  the  swelling  mother-heart. 
Where  covld  one  find  a  prettier,  a  daintier,  a 
sweeter  .  .  .    ? 

"This  is  becoming  a  habit, "  said  a  gently  teas- 
ing voice  behind  her. 

She  looked  up  with  a  start  to  see  Lord  Garry. 
She  had  not  heard  his  steps  on  the  velvet  softness 
of  the  turf. 

"Dede  invited  me  to  tea  with  you,"  he  said, 
sitting  down  beside  her.  He  did  not  say  that  he 
had  arranged  his  business  in  Bressy  today  for  that 


The  Star  Sapphire  loi 

special  purpose,  knowing  how  lonely  she  would  feel 
when  the  girl  had  gone. 

"She  told  me  so,  but  I  had  forgotten,"  said 
Lady  Brigid,  with  her  disarming  smile. 

"Neglectful  as  well  as  ungracious!"  he  mocked. 
"That's  what  comes  of  brooding  by  a  fish-pond 
instead  of  sweeping  the  cobwebs  from  your  mind 
with  the  broom  of  memory. " 

She  laughed.  "Fiohes  are  depressing  creatures 
at  best,"  she  said,  rousing  herself.  "Ludlow, 
what  a  beautiful  jewel  you  gave  the  child!  How 
good  you  are  to  me  and  mine!  I  should  love  to 
see  her  wear  it." 

"So  should  L  CamiUa  had  a  brief  fancy 
for  it  once,  in  the  early  days,  but  somehow  I  never 
cared  to  see  it  on  her  neck.  I  like  to  think  that 
your  child  has  it  now. " 

"My  dear!"  she  cried,  profoundly  touched. 

Some  impulse  for  which  he  could  never  account 
moved  him  to  unwonted  speech.  Afterwards  he 
was  glad  he  had  not  checked  it. 

"Brigid,"  he  said  gravely,  "the  best  thing  in  a 
long  and  full  life  has  been  my  friendship  with 
you." 

' '  Oh,  Ludlow,  has  it  really  ?  Have  I  been  of  any 
use  to  you?"     Her  joy  was  simple  as  a  child's. 

"The  very  greatest. " 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad."  Her  eyes  brimmed  with 
tears. 

"You've  kept  my  faith  in  womanhood  from 
shipwreck,    Brigid.     It    was    your   burning    and 


I02  The  Beloved  Sinner 

shining  light  that  brought  it  safely  to  firm  anchor- 
age again.  ..." 

"My  dear!"  she  said  once  more,  holding  out  a 
warm  hand.  "You  have  made  me  a  prouder  and 
happier  woman  even  than  I  was  before. " 

He  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it.  "What  a 
blessing  Dede  has  gone!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a 
return  of  his  usual  manner.  "How  she  would 
scorn  our  old-fashioned  sentimentality!" 

"I  never  pretend  to  be  anything  but  old-fash- 
ioned," she  admitted,  "and  I  think  life  would 
be  a  dry  and  dreary  desert  without  its  oases  of 
sentiment.  .  .  .  Ah,  here's  Noel !  He  looks  very 
tired.     Come,  Ludlow,  we'll  have  tea  at  once. " 

She  got  up  with  the  quickness  of  a  girl,  and  went 
to  meet  her  husband.  Lord  Garry  rose  more 
slowly,  and  followed  her. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ft 

THE  YOUNG  MAN  IN  THE  TRAIN 

Desir^e's  sense  of  adventure  quickened  as  the 
train  moved  off,  leaving  a  wa\dng  knot  of  girls  and 
boys  on  the  Bressy  platform,  among  whom  her 
mother's  tall  figure  stood  out  with  its  usual  touch 
of  distinction. 

It  grieved  Lady  Brigid  that  she  could  not  send  a 
maid  to  travel  with  Desiree.  Her  sheltered  life 
had  never  accustomed  her  to  the  modem  independ- 
ence of  girlhood,  which  she  disliked  as  well  as 
distrusted.  It  seemed  to  her  monstrous  that  her 
darling  should  be  sent  forth  alone  to  face  the  perils 
and  possibilities  of  a  journey  to  London.  She 
tipped  the  guard  lavishly  and  begged  him  to  look 
Desiree  up  at  every  station. 

The  guard  was  an  old  friend  and  had  young 
daughters  of  his  own. 

"I'll  lock  the  carriage  door  if  you  like,  my  lady, " 
he  said,  touching  his  cap. 

But  no,  Lady  Brigid  would  not  hear  of  that. 
Suppose  there  were  by  any  terrible  chance  an  acci- 
dent and  that  Desiree  were  locked  in!  No,  she 
must  risk  fellow-travellers.  .  .  . 

103 


104  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Therefore  it  was  not  the  guard's  fault  that  a 
large  young  man  in  a  Panama  hat  was  ushered 
into  her  carriage  at  Churchampton ;  a  young  man 
who  settled  himself  into  his  comer  with  the  in- 
stant and  permanent  ease  of  a  dog,  hiding  himself 
at  once  behind  a  barricade  of  evening  paper. " 

"Shy,  poor  thing!"  was  Desiree's  swift  deduc- 
tion. "Terrified  of  women.  Been  badly  scratched 
once  probably." 

That  his  apparent  instinct  of  self-preservation 
was  a  tribute  to  the  power  of  her  sex  she  did  not 
doubt  for  an  instant.  The  thought  quickened 
her  sense  of  pleasant  excitement.  The  young  man 
had  as  yet  no  personality.  He  was  merely  a  unit 
of  the  big  world  into  which  she  was  venturing. 
He  was  an  abstraction  typifying  Romance,  Adven- 
ture, Possibilities! 

At  present  her  own  hero,  that  wonderful  impossi- 
ble lover  of  whom  every  girl  dreams,  was  far  away 
upon  the  horizon,  hidden  in  the  golden  dust  raised 
by  his  horse's  hoofs.  With  the  queer  instinct  of 
girlhood  she  felt  that  once  he  appeared  in  view 
there  would  be  no  delay.  He  would  gallop 
towards  her — what  was  it  her  mother  had  said? 
"Terrible  as  an  army  with  banners,  but  over- 
whelmingly glorious  in  his  array. " 

Yes,  that  was  how  it  would  be;  but  not  yet — oh, 
not  yet.  She  thought  of  Leander  Wing  and  her 
face  suddenly  burned.     Oh,  no,  not  yet ! 

She  forgot  the  young  man  in  the  comer  until  a 
rustling  of  the  newspaper  attracted  her  attention. 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     105 

She  shot  a  quick  glance  towards  him.  Nothing  was 
to  be  seen  but  a  big  loose-limbed  frame  clad  in  an 
admirably-cut  riding-suit,  terminating  in  equally 
admirable  boots  and  gaiters. 

"Nice  clothes.  The  right  sort  of  clothes.  His 
hat  is  a  real  Panama,  too,"  she  mused.  "He  looks 
as  if  he  went  to  Cousin  Ludlow's  tailor.  " 

Higher  sartorial  praise  could  no  man  win  from 
the  lips  of  Miss  Desiree  Hasard ! 

It  was  a  pity  that  the  young  man  in  the  comer 
could  not  have  perceived  the  friendly  trend  of  her 
thoughts  towards  him.  It  seemed  to  him  as  if  the 
newspaper,  of  whose  contents  he  had  not  mastered 
one  single  word,  were  of  glass,  and  that  he  could 
see  through  it  the  delicate  profile,  which  a  hasty 
glance  seemed  to  have  stamped  indelibly  upon  his 
brain.  He  felt  an  overmastering  desire  to  speak 
to  her.  Women  were  to  him,  as  Desiree  had 
guessed,  beings  rather  to  be  avoided  than  pursued, 
but  this  one  was  different.  She  was  so  slight,  so 
young,  so  exquisitely  fair  and  finished — like  an 
ivory,  he  thought,  with  a  flash  of  appreciation. 
He  collected  ivories.  She  should  not  be  travelling 
alone,  subject  to  the  risks  of  beauty  unattended. 
Someone  might  speak  to  her,  might  frighten  her — 
some  bounder ! — With  a  sudden  twist  of  humour 
he  realized  that  that  was  just  what  he  had  wanted 
to  do  himself:  that  he  was  probably  the  only 
bounder  with  whom  she  would  come  in  contact  on 
her  journey ! 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  cursed  convention. 


io6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

At  the  moment  it  seemed  to  him  an  ineffably  stupid 
rule  which  forbade  two  decently  bred  young  people 
to  speak  to  each  other  without  the  absurd  formal- 
ity of  an  introduction.  Hitherto  social  laws  had 
seemed  to  him  safeguards  rather  than  barriers. 
Now  he  felt  an  iconoclastic  fury  towards  them. 
.  .  .  He  ventured  to  lower  the  paper  for  another 
quick  glance. 

She  was  not  looking  in  his  direction.  Chin  on 
hand,  she  gazed  out  upon  the  flying  landscape, 
seeing  fields,  woods,  and  thatched  hamlets  through 
a  haze  of  enchanted  anticipation.  .  .  . 

How  lovely  her  hair  was  under  the  little  blue 
hat !  The  very  sunbeams  seemed  entangled  in  it ! 
How  exquisite  her  skin,  in  colour  and  texture  like 
the  petals  of  a  wild  rose — flower-soft,  flower-fine! 
There  would  be  a  dimple  near  her  mouth  when  she 
smiled,  he  felt  sure.  It  was  a  warm,  impulsive 
mouth,  softly  red  as  a  child's,  none  of  your  mincing 
buttons.  He  hated  tiny  mouths.  .  .  .  What 
colour  were  her  eyes,  he  wondered.  They  were 
shaded  by  such  long  dark  lashes  that  he  could  not 
see.  .  .  .  Would  she  be  frightened  if  he  spoke  to 
her?  There  was  a  frank  sweetness  about  her  air 
that  precluded  affectation  or  mock  modesty.  .  .  . 
She  might  be  angry.  Yet  would  she?  .  .  .  He 
could  imagine  no  attitude  in  her  other  than  a 
nymph-like  naturalness,  an  exquisite  freedom, 
that,  in  its  very  innocence,  was  sufficient  barrier 
against  intrusion. 

If  he  ventured  on  speech  what  could  he  say? 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     107 

Each  had  command  of  an  open  window,  through 
which  the  very  air  from  Paradise  seemed  gently 
wafted.  No  one  could  wish  to  shut  it  out.  Not 
he,  lover  of  the  open  as  he  was :  for  all  her  look  of 
dainty  perfection  he  would  swear  she  was  a  blossom 
of  the  garden  rather  than  the  hot-house.  He  dis- 
liked greenhouse  women  almost  as  much  as  he 
disUked  sportswomen.  The  eternal  feminine  in 
its  highest  manifestation  was  his  ideal.  Here, 
newly-created  as  Eve,  sat  its  realization,  almost 
within  reach  of  his  hand,  yet  as  far  removed  from 
him  as  if  she  were  enthroned  upon  some  inaccessi- 
ble snow-peak. 

Time  was  flying,  spilling  the  precious,  irre- 
vocable seconds  as  he  went,  each  minute  racing 
towards  the  moment  of  their  separation. 

With  an  unconscious  sigh  he  let  his  paper  fall  on 
his  knees,  and  threw  his  whole  soul  into  an  effort 
to  will  Desiree  to  turn  round  and  speak  to  him. 

Without  seeming  to  see  she  was  aware  of  the 
whole  manoeuvre.  It  all  seemed  part  of  the  fun, 
one  of  the  amusing  possibilities  which  lay  be- 
fore her.  At  first  she  resisted  her  own  spring- 
ing impulse  to  turn  round  and  speak  to  this 
personable  young  man  with  the  right  kind  of 
clothes,  because  she  knew  that  her  mother  would 
not  like  it.  Then  gradually,  almost  against  her 
will,  his  compelling  gaze  so  wrought  upon  her  that 
at  last  she  turned  suddenly,  and  met  his  eyes. 
The  comers  of  her  mouth  began  to  twitch:  the 
promised  dimple  sprang  out  of  ambush. 


io8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Why  are  you  making  that  extraordinary  face 
at  me?"  she  asked,  with  a  ripple  of  laughter. 

"Am  I  making  an  extraordinary  face?"  he  said, 
inspired  with  the  sudden  ease  and  boldness  which 
occasionally  comes  to  the  very  shy.  "I  didn't 
know.     I  was  willing  you  to  speak  to  me. " 

Desiree  laughed  outright.  He  thought  he  had 
never  heard  a  prettier  sound. 

"Are  you  often  successful  in  your  efforts?"  she 
queried.  She  was  very  glad  that  he  had  spoken. 
His  voice  and  face  were  as  nice  as  his  clothes,  she 
thought,  summing  him  up  with  a  swift  difference 
from  her  former  appraisal.  His  eyes  were  grey, 
set  in  a  tanned  face  of  a  pleasant  ugliness.  His 
mouth  was  humorous:  the  line  of  his  jaw  was 
square  and  perhaps  stem.  His  mouth  could  look 
grim,  too,  she  surmised,  but  it  smiled  with  his  eyes 
now.  His  voice  was  charming.  It  had  the  clear, 
well-bred  ring  of  her  father's  and  Lord  Garry's 
— her  touchstones  of  taste  in  men.  It  lacked  the 
slight  burr  of  Leander  Wing's  or  the  high  boister- 
ousness  of  Dick's  and  Roddy's.     It  was  just  right. 

"I've  never  tried  before,"  he  answered. 

"I  shouldn't  again,"  Desiree  advised.  "It 
might  have  the  opposite  effect  to  what  you 
intended. " 

Then,  because  they  were  both  young  and  a 
little  intoxicated  with  the  glamour  of  youth  and 
summer  and  delightful  propinquity,  they  laughed 
together  with  a  swift  sense  of  mutual  understand- 
ing, which  set  them  farther  on  the  road  to  friend- 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     109 

ship  than  months  of  casual  intercourse  might  have 
done. 

"I  shan't  want  to  try,"  he  answered  simply. 

Desir6e  flushed  faintly,  yet  there  was  no  offence 
either  in  tone  or  glance.  He  seemed  a  very  direct 
person,  this  big  young  man:  a  person  who  went 
straight  to  his  point  whatever  it  was.  She  liked 
that.  Her  own  frank  impulsiveness  responded 
at  once  to  it.  She  had  no  patience  with  bush- 
beaters  ! 

A  little  silence  fell.  He  looked  at  her  apprehen- 
sively. "I  say,  you're  not  angry  with  me,  are 
you?" 

"For  speaking  to  me?  No,  I'm  quite  glad.  I 
was  beginning  to  feel  rather  dull,"  she  admitted. 
"Besides  it  was  I  who  spoke  to  you — a  thing 
which  no  properly  brought-up  young  woman  ought 
to  do!" 

"Yet  you  look  as  if  you  had  been  properly 
brought  up, "  he  replied,  with  a  twinkle. 

"You  never  can  tell  what  dark  depths  may  lurk 
beneath  an  outwardly  fair  exterior!" 

"Tell  me  about  yourself.  Hidden  depths  are 
always — interesting."  His  tone  was  humbly 
eager. 

"They  are  only  for  the  explorer.  The  forest 
doesn't  yield  up  its  secrets  to  the  casual  passer-by. 
Coal  isn't  found  on  the  surface.  You  have  to  dig 
for  it." 

"But  you  resemble  neither  a  forest  nor  a  coal- 
mine, "  he  objected. 


no  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I'm  afraid  I  got  a  little  mixed  in  my  meta- 
phors," laughed  Desiree,  happily  embarked  upon 
a  flood  of  nonsense.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been 
silent  for  years. 

"I  should  be  honoured  if  you  would  tell  me  a 
little  about  yourself,"  said  this  odd  young  man. 

"If  it  pleases  you,  sir,  I  am  a  humble  maiden, 
born  of  poor  but  honest  parents.  Carefully 
brought  up,  I  have  spent  most  of  my  young  life  in 
the  secluded  hamlet  of  Bressy,  and  am  now  on  my 
way  to  that  great  and  wicked  city,  called  by  the 
learned  the  modern  Babylon,  to  stay  with  my  rich 
aunt,  and  see  something  of  life.  Life  !  "  she  echoed 
in  quite  a  different  tone,  with  a  little  sigh  of 
ecstasy. 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment  without  speech. 
He  liked  her  reticence,  he  liked  her  frankness,  he 
liked  her  nonsense,  he  liked  everything  about  her. 
Never  had  he  felt  such  irresistible  drawing  power 
in  a  human  being  before.  He  suddenly  felt 
that  he  wanted  to  kneel  before  this  small,  slim, 
sparkling  creature,  and  lay  everything  that  he  had 
and  was  at  her  feet. 

"Yet  you  can  see  life  at  its  fullest  even  in  a 
hamlet.  The  big  things  are  all  there,  the  funda- 
mentals, the  things  that  matter,"  he  said  in  his 
ordinary  voice,  while  his  heart  pounded  and  some 
inner  instinct  whispered,  "Fate!  This  is  Fate! 
She  has  you  in  her  grip.  There  is  no  armour 
against  Fate,  the  irresistible.  "  "You  only  get  the 
froth  of  life  in  big  cities, "  he  went  on.     "I've  seen 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     iii 

most  of  them  and  I  know.  The  heart  of  things 
is  nearer  the  good  brown  earth.  " 

"But  I've  been  near  the  good  brown  earth  all  my 
life,"  Desiree  objected.  "I  want  the  froth  now, 
and  the  sparkle,  and  all  the  frivolous,  exciting  things 
I  can  get." 

He  smiled  suddenly  at  her.  His  square  brown 
face  became  irradiated  with  a  kindly  tenderness 
that  had  something  protective  in  it. 

"You  want  to  try  your  wings,  is  that  it?" 

"Yes, "  Desiree  breathed. 

"They  should  carry  you  far  above  the  little 
glittering  things  after  a  time,"  he  said,  as  if  he 
were  satisfying  some  doubt  in  himself  rather 
than  answering  her.  ' '  But  you  want  to  try  them 
all  first.     It's  very  natural.  " 

"Ah,  you  understand,  then?" 

"I,  too,  have  been  young!"  he  answered, 
wrinkling  up  his  eyes  until  they  almost  disappeared. 

Desiree  looked  at  him  and  laughed.  "Poor 
ancient!  I  don't  believe  you've  seen  twenty- 
seven  yet. " 

"I  shall  never  see  it  again,"  he  said,  with  mock 
ruefulness.  "I  was  twenty-eight  my  last  birth- 
day." 

"And  I  shall  be  twenty-one  in  a  few  days, "  she 
said  impulsively. 

"That  shows  the  vast  difference  in  our  years," 
he  went  on  lightly.  "You  are  young  enough  to 
quote  your  next  birthday.  I  regretfully  allude 
to  my  last." 


112  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Come,  come,  twenty-eight  is  not  so  very  old 
after  all!  But  you  haven't  returned  the  compli- 
ment of  my  frankness.  You  have  only  told  me 
your  age  while  I've  poured  forth  my  history  into 
your  ears. ' ' 

"I  am  but  a  country  clod,"  he  returned,  "who 
farms  his  little  patrimony,  tilling  the  soil  with 
the  sweat  of  his  brow  as  man  was  ordained  to  do, 
while  his  aged  mother  keeps  house  for  him.  Not 
that  she  is  really  aged.  She's  bewilderingly 
active.  I  only  wish  she  had  passed  on  some  of  her 
superfluous  energy  to  me. " 

"Yet  you  don't  look  lazy, "  said  Desir6e,  with  a 
glance  at  the  loose-knit,  athletic-looking  frame. 

"For  this  relief  much  thanks,"  he  quoted,  with  a 
whimsical  look  that  reminded  her  of  Lord  Garry. 
"My  hidden  depth  is  that  I  am  really  a  lazy  beggar 
at  heart.     I  love  loafing. " 

"So  do  I." 

"What  is  it  Walt  Whitman  says?  'I  loaf  and 
invite  my  soul.'  On  downs,  or  cliffs,  or  any  wide 
spaces,"  he  ended,  with  a  diffident  simplicity. 

For  a  moment  Desiree's  heart  sank  a  little, 
with  a  quick  remembrance  of  Leander  Wing  and 
his  talk  of  souls.  Still  there  was  nothing  intense 
or  leash-like  about  this  big  young  man,  who  spoke 
with  such  absolute  naturalness  and  sincerity. 

"I  shan't  have  much  time  for  loafing  in  town,** 
she  said,  with  a  happy  smile. 

"You'll  whirl  till  you're  giddy. " 

"It  would  take  a  lot  of  whirling  to  make  me 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     113 

giddy,"  she  said.  "Do  you  never  stay  in  Lon- 
don?" 

* '  Only  when  I  can't  possibly  help  it.  London  in 
June!  Ye  gods,  what  waste  of  the  treasure  of 
summer!" 

"I'm  going  to  spend  it,  to  squander  every  golden 
minute  of  it,"  cried  Desiree,  her  eyes  alight,  her 
cheeks  delicately  glowing. 

The  train  whistled  shrilly  and  slackened  pace. 
The  young  man  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
and  drew  it  in  with  an  air  of  surprised  disgust. 

"Why,  it's  Westleigh  Jimction,"  he  cried 
flatly. 

"Yes, "  said  Desiree.  ' '  I  see  it's  Westleigh,  but 
what  has  poor  Westleigh  done  that  you  should  be 
so  annoyed  with  it  ? " 

"I've  got  to  change  here  and  catch  a  train 
for  Cottenham, "  he  answered,  still  in  that  disap- 
pointed tone.     "I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  near.  " 

' '  Do  you  live  at  Cottenham  ? "  she  asked,  feeling 
a  little  prick  of  regret  that  her  pleasant  companion 
was  being  reft  from  her  so  soon. 

"No.  Ten  miles  away,  but  I've  ordered  my 
man  to  meet  me  there  with  my  horse.  Hence  this 
tog."  He  looked  down  at  his  riding-breeches. 
"I  hate  motor-cars.  I  ride  whenever  I  can.  Do 
you  ride?" 

"Whenever  I've  a  chance,  but  I  love  cars  too, " 
she  answered.  "We  have  only  an  old  pony  at 
home,  and  he's  too  fat  to  ride  now,  alas!" 

For  a  moment  each  pictured  the  other  on  horse- 


114  The  Beloved  Sinner 

back,  seeing  a  satisfying  vision.  Then  the  train 
stopped  with  a  jerk. 

The  young  man  rose.  The  platform  was  at 
Desiree's  side.  He  opened  the  door  and  got  out, 
standing  there  bareheaded  for  a  hesitant  moment. 
Then  he  blurted  into  speech. 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  he  began  hastily,  "that 
I've  never  before  spoken  to  a  girl  whom  I  didn't 
know.  I  hope  you  realize  that — that  I  am 
more  honoured  than  words  can  express  by  your 
goodness  in  talking  to  me — that  I'm — that  I — 
that  you — "  he  faltered  into  a  bog-hole  of  de- 
sperate silence. 

Desiree  felt  touched  and  amused  at  the  same 
time. 

'  *  I  knew  you  were  the  right  sort  of  man  the  very 
minute  I  looked  at  you.  I  couldn't  possibly 
misconstrue  anything  you  said  or  did.  Besides 
it  was  I  who  spoke  to  you !  You  must  remember 
that.  .  .  .  Oh,"  she  broke  out  impulsively, 
"you're  the  first  man  I  ever  met  who  wasn't 
like  Adam,  glad  to  put  the  blame  of  anything  he 
could  on  the  woman. " 

"And  you,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone  packed  with 
feeling,  "are  the  first  woman  I've  ever  met  who 
was  the  least  like-  Eve,  fresh  and  pure,  and  un- 
spotted from  the  world. " 

"Oh,  dear,  Eden  again!"  thought  Desiree,  with 
an  irrepressible  smile.  "What  a  curious  similar- 
ity there  is  among  men ! ' '  Yet  in  her  inmost  heart, 
well  hidden  away,  was  a  certain  conviction  of  the 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     115 

difference  of  this  young  man  from  all  the  others 
she  had  hitherto  met.  Lord  Garry's  words  flashed 
across  her  mind.  "Must  your  Adam  be  the  first 
man  who  has  loved  you?  May  he  not  rather  be 
the  first  man  who ? " 

The  guard  raised  his  whistle,  with  a  searching 
glance  at  the  tall  bareheaded  figure  by  the  carriage- 
door. 

"Bit  of  all  right,  he  is,"  he  thought.  "Some 
friend  of  the  young  lady's,  likely.  "     He  blew. 

"You're  going,"  said  the  young  man,  paling 
suddenly  under  his  tan,  and  holding  out  a  ten- 
tative hand. 

Desiree  slid  hers  into  it.  Never  had  she  felt  so 
strong,  possessive  a  clasp.  She  reddened  faintly 
as  she  withdrew  her  hand. 

"Good-bye  and  good  luck!"  she  cried. 

"We'll  meet  again, "  he  said.  "I  feel  it  in  my 
bones,  as  my  old  nurse  used  to  say.  " 

"Have  you  prophetic  bones?"  she  asked.  "I 
wish  I  had. " 

The  train  moved.  He  walked  alongside,  his 
hand  on  the  open  window.  Desiree  liked  the  look 
of  it,  strong,  brown,  and  clean-cut — a  hand  that 
would  surely  grip  fast  whatever  it  held. 

"You  haven't  told  me  your  name,"  he  said 
suddenly. 

' '  Desiree  Hasard, ' '  she  replied.     * '  And  yours  ? ' ' 

He  let  go  the  window  and  stood  still  on  the  plat- 
form as  the  train  gathered  speed. 

"Desiree!"   he  said  below  his  breath.      "No 


ii6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

other  name  could  have  suited  you  half  so  well. 
I  might  have  known.  " 

"You  haven't  told  me  yours,"  she  called  to 
him. 

He  said  something  which  the  rising  rattle  of  the 
train  prevented  her  from  hearing.  In  a  moment 
the  platform  swerved  out  of  sight,  leaving  her  with 
a  vivid  impression  of  the  tall  bareheaded  figure 
in  the  sunshine,  holding  her  eyes  with  his  until  the 
train  swept  her  from  view. 

She  sank  back  into  her  seat  with  a  sigh  that 
was  more  than  half  regret.  She  sincerely  hoped 
that  his  words  would  come  true  and  that  they 
might  meet  again.  Instinctively  she  felt  that  he 
was  the  sort  of  man  her  mother  and  father  would 
like.  He  would  like  them,  too,  she  was  sure. 
He  was  rather  un-modem:  perhaps  even  a  little 
old-fashioned.  He  gave  an  impression  of  gentle 
protectiveness  through  his  strength.  He  had  un- 
derstanding, too,  that  inestimable,  undefinable 
quality.  In  short  he  was  a  dear!  Hitherto 
Desiree's  highest  term  of  praise  for  man  or  boy 
was  to  dub  him  a  lamb,  but  though  the  brown 
young  man  might  possibly  have  many  lamb-like 
qualities  he  soared  above  mere  lambhood  to 
something  which  merited  a  stronger  phrase.  .  .  . 
Yes,  she  would  be  very  glad  if  his  bones  were 
really  prophetic!  She  would  like  to  see  him 
again.  .  .  .  Suddenly  she  thought  of  him  on  his 
horse,  riding  through  the  scented  air  of  the  clean, 
green    country.     He   would   have    a   good    seat 


The  Young  Man  in  the  Train     117 

and  perfect  hands.  .  .  .  He  was  just  the  sort 
of  man  who  would  come  galloping.  .  .  . 

With  a  swift  blush  she  pulled  her  thoughts 
together,  and  turned  them  towards  the  unrealized 
pleasures  of  the  future.  She  meant  to  wring 
every  possible  ounce  of  enjoyment  out  of  them. 

Her  previous  visits  to  London  had  been  of  the 
country  cousin  order.  Her  aunt's  town  house  had 
never  been  open  when  she  and  her  mother  were 
there.  It  was  two  years  since  she  had  even 
been  to  Frayne.  She  had  tried  her  wings  in  the 
country. 

Now  she  was  ready  for  a  real  flight. 


CHAPTER  IX 

DESIR^E    TRIES    HER   WINGS 

Lady  Monica  Bland  offered  a  marked  con- 
trast to  her  sister  Brigid. 

Where  necessity  had  spurred  the  elder  sister 
to  a  gracious  activity  the  lack  of  it  had  lulled 
the  younger  to  a  placid  apathy.  She  did  not 
mind  what  any  one  did  so  long  as  they  did  not 
worry  her.  She  carried  her  husband's  motto 
— "Live  and  let  live" — almost  to  excess,  allow- 
ing her  children  a  latitude  which  Brigid  Hasard 
deplored. 

Only  on  one  point  was  she  inflexible.  She 
required  perfect  service  from  those  in  her  employ- 
ment. Everything  had  been  so  haphazard  and 
casual  in  her  early  youth  that,  from  the  time  of  her 
marriage,  she  determined  that  she  would  have  no 
more  of  it.  She  demanded  the  best  of  attendance 
and  she  got  it.  She  was  an  exacting  mistress,  an 
indulgent  mother,  and  a  comfortable  wife. 

Fair,  large,  and  auburn,  she  sailed  through  her 
days  on  a  waft  of  amiable  indolence :  pleased  that 
those  around  her  should  be  pleased  (always  except- 
ing the  servants  whom  she  really  did  not  regard 

118 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         119 

altogether  as  human  beings),  letting  her  girls  do 
just  as  they  liked,  and  spoiling  her  boys,  on  whom 
most  of  her  affection  was  lavished. 

Gillian,  the  elder  girl,  was  twenty-four,  large, 
cream,  and  red-gold  as  her  mother  had  been  at  her 
age.  Judith,  just  twenty-three,  was  of  a  different 
type,  dark,  thin,  distinguished.  Her  hair  had  red 
lights  and  her  eyes  the  red  gleams  of  a  highly- 
strung,  spirited  thoroughbred. 

"You  could  ride  Judy  on  the  snaffle,  but  never 
on  the  curb, "  her  father  often  said;  but  as  yet  no 
man  had  been  courageous  enough  to  attempt  to 
do  either. 

She  had  tried  most  things  and  had  found  them 
wanting.  Clever,  but  not  talented,  she  had  no 
special  aptitudes,  if  one  excepts  a  somewhat 
intermittent  love  of  music. 

She  was  friendly  with  all  men,  intimate  with  a 
few,  and  beloved  of  none.  There  was  an  odd 
streak  in  her  personality  which  ultimately  re- 
pelled those  whom  her  queer  attractiveness  at 
first  drew. 

Yet  she  was  popular  in  her  own  careless  way. 
Lady  Monica  kept  open  house,  and  allowed  Judith 
perfect  freedom  in  her  choice  of  guests,  which  va- 
ried according  to  the  girl's  different  phases.  Her 
present  craze  was  barefoot  dancing  and  the  cult 
of  the  Greek. 

Desiree  wished  that  she  and  Leander  Wing 
could  meet ! 

Of  the  two  Bland  boys,  John,  just  of  age,  was  in 


I20  The  Beloved  Sinner 

his  last  term  at  Oxford,  and  Dudley,  the  youngest 
of  the  family,  in  his  first. 

Squire  Bland  came  to  town  for  reluctant  periods 
during  the  season,  returning  to  Frayne  with  a 
sense  of  relief  that  was  almost  worth  the  pur- 
gatorial visits. 

Desiree  saw  his  point  of  view,  but  wonderingly. 
* '  I  suppose  the  true  lover  of  turnips  can  never  be 
satisfied  with  asparagus,  "  she  said  to  herself  when 
her  Uncle  John  pinched  her  cheeks  and  made  fool- 
ish jokes  about  her  roses  drooping  for  want  of 
country  air. 

She  liked  him,  as  she  liked  any  one  who  was 
kind  to  her,  but  she  often  wondered  how  Aunt 
Monica  could  ever  have  married  him. 

"They  have  nothing  to  talk  about,"  she  thought. 
^ '  I  should  like  always  to  have  things  to  talk  about 
with  the  man  I  marry. " 

She  said  as  much  once  to  Judith,  who  replied 
with  a  queer  little  chuckle: 

"There's  no  fear  that  you  won't  always  have 
plenty  to  talk  about  to  men,  whether  you  marry 
them  or  not." 

"Them?"  echoed  Desiree,  wrinkling  up  her 
nose.     "I'm  not  a'  Mormon,  Judy!" 

They  laughed.  It  was  easy  to  laugh  when  one 
was  young  and  the  world  so  full  of  amusing,  delight- 
ful, exciting  things. 

Life  spun  a  tissue  of  golden  days  for  Desiree, 
hung  with  diamond  moments.  Her  heart  danced 
even  when  her  feet  did  not.     She  went  here,  there, 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         121 

and  everywhere.  Balls,  dinners,  receptions,  small 
and  intimate  dances,  concerts,  gay  little  theatre 
and  supper  parties,  the  opera,  river-parties,  sun- 
light and  moonlight.  Ranelagh,  Hurlingham, 
Ascot — all  imaginable  delights  were  hers.  If  she 
did  not  create  the  sensation  or  achieve  the  triumph 
which  her  mother  had  fondly  pictured,  she  had  a 
very  excellent  time  indeed,  and  quite  as  much 
admiration  as  was  good  for  her. 

She  met  scores  of  men,  young,  middle-aged,  and 
old.  Those  in  the  two  latter  categories  fell  instant 
victims  to  her  charm  and  freshness:  those  in  the 
former  were  more  wary,  owing  to  her  lack  of 
fortune.  She  met  every  possible  variety  of  them — 
the  expensive,  the  dull,  the  amusing,  the  rich, 
the  impecunious,  the  clever — ranging  as  she  did 
in  Judith's  wake  from  Society  to  Upper  Bohemia, 
and  back  again.  The  Society  young  men  had  a 
certain  sameness  which  was  lacking  in  the  Upper 
Bohemians,  who  possessed  a  variety  of  type  which 
was  refreshing  to  Desiree  as  long  as  she  did  not 
remember  Leander  Wing  and  the  Bluebell  Wood. 

A  young  and  fashionable  poet  wrote  a  lyric  to 
her  sea-blue  eyes  which  an  equally  young  and  not 
quite  as  fashionable  musician  set  to  music  and  sang 
at  her,  with  all  that  was  left  of  his  frittered  heart. 
A  little  train  of  men  always  surrounded  her,  and 
just  before  the  end  of  the  season  she  had  what  her 
Aunt  Monica  called  "two  excellent  offers" — both 
of  which  she  refused. 

There  was  no  secrecy  about  them:  no  privacy 


122  The  Beloved  Sinner 

even.  They  had  been  anticipated  and  discussed 
by  Lady  Monica  and  Judith  in  a  way  that  made 
Desiree's  cheeks  bum  and  her  heart  swell  with  a 
sense  of  outrage  and  rebellion.  It  would  have 
taken  a  veritable  passion  to  surmount  such  cool 
dissection,  and  not  even  the  fringe  of  the  girl's 
senses  had  been  fluttered.  She  felt  flattered  at 
the  tribute  and  sorry  for  giving  pain,  but  her  head 
remained  unturned,  and  her  heart  untouched. 
There  was  something  lacking  in  all  of  them.  They 
fox-trotted.  There  was  no  faintest  suggestion  of 
an  army  with  banners.  Her  own  little  pennon 
was  more  awe-inspiring  than  their  feebly  fluttered 
flags  of  truce. 

"Not  even  the  nicest  of  them,  lambs  though 
they  are,  is  to  be  compared  with  my  young  man  in 
the  train, "  she  told  herself. 

It  was  significant  that  not  in  their  most  intimate 
moments  did  she  mention  him  to  Judith,  who  had 
a  knack  of  pulling  things  to  pieces,  and  leaving 
nothing  but  valueless  fragments. 

Her  mother  wrote  often  and  at  length.  No 
word  of  the  loneliness  she  felt  ever  crept  into  the 
budgets  of  homely  news.  One  item  concerned 
Leander  Wing. 

"Are  all  geniuses  as  erratic  as  he  is,  I  wonder? 
You  ought  to  know,  for  you  seem  to  have  met 
several!  The  moment  your  father  finally  gave 
him  the  commission  for  the  screen  (you  know  how 
he  has  set  his  dear  heart  on  it)  Mr.  Wing  packed 
up  his  things  and  went  off  to  London!     He  said 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         123 

that  the  country  quiet  was  getting  on  his  nerves 
and  that  he  could  work  better  in  an  atmosphere 
of  work.  Shortly  after  he  left,  Tessie  Hart,  Mrs. 
Bolton's  niece,  went  away,  too.  I  can't  help 
wondering  if  there  is  any  connection  between  the 
two  events.  However,  the  girl  lives  in  London. 
She  is  a  typist  somewhere,  I  believe. " 

The  last  few  sentences  were  characteristic  of 
Lady  Brigid.  Fearing  that  her  deduction  may 
have  seemed  uncharitable — (and  who  shall  say 
with  what  intent  it  had  been  penned,  so  complex 
are  the  workings  of  the  human  mind  ?) — she  has- 
tened to  palliate  it  with  the  assertion  that  the  girl 
had  only  gone  home ! 

Desiree  frowned  at  the  thought  of  Leander  Wing 
being  in  town,  then  smiled.  A  swift  longing  for 
her  mother's  face  and  the  loved  home  atmosphere 
came  over  her,  dimming  her  brightness  as  mist 
dims  a  mirror.  In  spite  of  the  glorious  time 
she  was  having  there  was  no  place  like  home, 
really,  and  no  one  in  the  world  like  her  mother — 
and  her  dear  persistent  saint  of  a  dad.  For  a 
moment  she  had  an  absurd  longing  to  pack  her 
boxes  and  flee  back  to  Bressy.  Then  Judith  came 
into  the  room  with  an  invitation  card  in  her  hand. 

"Great  rag  at  the  Talbots'  on  the  2d,"  she 
announced.  "Fancy  dress,  eighteenth  century, 
any  country.  Mimi  fancies  herself  poudree. 
That's  why  she  chose  such  a  dear  old  rococo  period ! 
I  shall  go  as  a  Spanish  dancer.  What  did  Spanish 
dancers  wear  in  the  eighteenth  century,   Dede? 


124  The  Beloved  Sinner 

You  must  go  as  a  Trianon  shepherdess.  It's 
just  your  style.  Come  along  to  Anne  Silke's. 
She'll  run  us  up  something  in  a  hurry  that  will 
have  a  touch  of  originality,  too.  I  must  say  they 
haven't  given  us  very  much  time. " 

"I  suppose  the  sailor  brother  has  come  home 
sooner  than  they  expected, "  Desiree  said,  slipping 
her  mother's  letter  into  her  pocket,  and  forgetting 
all  about  Leander  Wing  and  her  desire  for  flight. 
"A  Trianon  shepherdess  sounds  perfectly  fascinat- 
ing. I  loved  the  Trianon  better  than  anything 
else  at  Versailles.  I  used  to  persuade  Mile. 
Pichon  to  take  us  there  as  often  as  I  could  while  I 
was  at  St.  Cloud." 

"You'd  better  get  Anne  Silke  to  make  you  a 
frock  for  the  Percivals'  show  while  you're  about  it. 
You  haven't  got  a  decent  rag  left. " 

' '  No, "  Desiree  admitted  ruefully.  ' '  I  was  afraid 
they  were  all  beginning  to  look  distinctly  passee, 
poor  things.     Is  Anne  vSilke  very  expensive?" 

"Oh,  no,  quite  reasonable,"  answered  Judith, 
who  had  a  dress  allowance  of  two  hundred  a  year, 
and  grumbled  at  it.  ' '  You  ought  to  get  one  of  her 
embroidered  muslins,  too.  She  makes  a  specialty 
of  washing-frocks.  One  can't  have  too  many,  you 
know,  and  you'll  find  them  awfully  useful  at 
Frayne." 

"I  think  I've  plenty,"  said  Desir6e,  in  a  rather 
small  voice.  "If  I  want  any  I'll  write  to  Mrs. 
Brabazon,  mother's  woman  in  Churchampton,  to 
send  me  some  country  cottons. " 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         125 

"Oh,  just  as  you  like,"  said  Judith  carelessly. 
"She's  made  you  some  awfully  decent  things,  I 
must  say,  and  I  expect,  like  myself,  you're  always 
hard  up.  .  .  .  Why  don't  you  play  bridge?"  she 
thrust  suddenly  at  her.  "At  Auction  one  can  win 
quite  a  lot,  and  it  comes  in  pretty  useful.  " 

"I  hate  cards,"  cried  Desir6e.  "They  always 
make  me  feel  sleepy.  " 

"If  that's  your  attitude,  cut  bridge  by  all 
means,"  Judith  laughed.  "Put  on  your  hat  and 
come  and  watch  my  attempts  to  turn  Anne  Silke's 
smooth  black  hair  grey!  She  hates  me  like 
poison,  but  she  likes  dressing  me,  and  she  knows 
I  always  pay  her  in  the  end.  Or  at  least  father 
does.  He's  always  having  to  fish  me  out  of  debt, 
but  it's  his  own  fault,  when  he  gives  me  such  a 
wretched  allowance. " 

In  the  end!  Desiree  gave  a  little  sigh.  She 
knew  that  although  her  mother  had  paid  for  her 
London  trousseau,  a  big  margin  of  debt  must 
remain.  She  wished  she  could  be  like  Judy  and 
not  mind.  Her  "wretched  allowance"  would 
amply  satisfy  her,  she  thought.  Of  course  she 
would  pay  in  the  end,  too.  Her  mother  would  help 
her  as  usual.  She  thrust  away  the  thought  now, 
determined  to  enjoy  her  visit  to  the  full.  After- 
wards—  ?  Afterwards  could  take  care,  of  itself. 
She  ran  away  to  get  her  hat,  and  ordered  two  frocks 
at  Anne  Silke's.  She  felt  a  little  glow  because  she 
resisted  the  embroidered  muslin,  which  really  was  a 
dream,  .  .  . 


126  The  Beloved  Sinner 

For  a  time  she  watched  nervously  for  Leander 
Wing  in  crowded  places,  but  if  his  eyes  burned  on 
her  from  gallery  or  throng  she  never  saw  them,  so 
dismissed  him  from  her  mind.  .  .  . 

A  few  days  before  the  Bland  family  flitted  to 
Frayne,  Judith  rushed  back  to  luncheon  rather 
late. 

The  two  young  men  who  kept  Lady  Monica  and 
Desiree  from  a  solitude  d  deux  greeted  her  with  a 
fire  of  their  own  particular  chaff  as  she  subsided 
into  her  seat. 

"I've  been  at  my  Greek  culture  class, "  she  said. 
"It  would  do  you  all  the  good  in  the  world  if  you 
attended  it,  too." 

"I  thought  the  mere  male  was  carefully  ex- 
cluded," said  Reginald  Bray,  a  young  man  de- 
stined to  rise  high  in  the  Diplomatic  Service. 

"There  are  special  classes  for  the  mere  male  if  he 
cares  to  attend, "  answered  Judith. 

"Does  he?"  asked  Mr.  Bray. 

"I've  never  been  sufficiently  interested  to  en- 
quire." 

"Judy  tries  to  cultivate  a  Greek  body,  but 
I've  often  thought  of  cultivating  a  Greek  soul," 
put  in  Desiree.  "It  seems  to  me  to  be  an  extra- 
ordinarily useful  possession:  a  reason  and  an 
excuse  in  one  for  doing  anything  that  comes  into 
one's  head." 

"But  does  one  really  need  a  Greek  soul  for 
that?"  said  Mr.  Bray.  "One  would  scarcely 
think  so  when  one  looks  round " 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         127 

"Does  any  one  here  know  Princess  Pafnuty?" 
Judith  interrupted  suddenly. 

Lady  Monica  and  Desiree  looked  blank.  The 
two  young  men  exchanged  fleeting  glances,  and 
Mr.  Bray,  who  prided  himself  on  knowing  every- 
one, asked: 

"What  Princess  Pafnuty?" 

"There  is  only  one,  as  far  as  I  know,"  Judith 
answered.  "She  comes  to  my  Greek  class.  She 
is  the  most  intensely  alive  person  I've  ever  met. 
Not  young,  but  full  of  the  most  extraordinary  vi- 
tality. I've  asked  her  down  to  Frayne  for  a  week, 
Mother.  Do  you  mind?  I  don't  believe  she'd 
be  able  to  stand  more  of  the  country  than  that. " 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  answered  Lady  Monica, 
with  a  lymphatic  tolerance,  "so  long  as  she's 
respectable.     Is  she  respectable,  Judy?" 

■"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  Judith  answered. 
"What  on  earth  does  it  matter  if  she's  amusing? 
Her  husband.  Prince  Ivan  Pafnuty,  is  cousin  of 
that  young  man  at  the  Russian  Embassy,  Boris 
Ravaloff ,  whom  you  considered  the  most  charming 
creature  you'd  ever  met. " 

"Oh,  if  she's  Russian — "  began  Lady  Monica 
in  a  relieved  tone. 

"But  she's  not, "  said  Judy.     "She's  English. " 

"English?"  Lady  Monica  answered  dubiously. 
"If  she's  English  she  must  be  respectable.  For 
foreigners  one  has  a  different  standard. " 

"I  wonder  why?"  asked  Desiree,  bubbling 
with  laughter.     Her  Aunt  Monica  was  a  constant 


128  The  Beloved  Sinner 

source  of  amusement  to  her.  She  was  very  fond 
of  Desiree  and  did  not  in  the  least  mind  being 
laughed  at.  In  fact  she  would  willingly  have 
exchanged  Judith  for  her  as  a  daughter. 

For  Gillian  she  had  that  feeling  of  pride  and 
flattered  vanity  which  one  has  for  one's  own  most 
pleasing  portrait. 

"I  can't  explain  why,  but  I  know  it  to  be 
true,"  she  answered.  "Am  I  not  right,  Mr. 
Bray?" 

"Absolutely,  Lady  Monica.  .  .  ,  I  have  heard 
of  a  Princess  Pafnuty  who  was  divorced  from  her 
first  husband, "  he  went  on  slowly.  "But  perhaps 
this  is  not  the  same  lady." 

"It  probably  is,  but  what  does  it  matter?"  cried 
Judith  impatiently.  ' '  She's  properly  married  now, 
at  all  events.  I've  seen  her  husband,  a  bizarre- 
looking  creature,  with  a  pale  face  and  a  forked 
beard!" 

"You  haven't  asked  him,  too?"  Lady  Monica 
looked  alarmed. 

"No,  I  haven't.  But  he  quite  looks  as  if  he 
might  be  the  hero  of  a  divorce-suit,  intense,  pale, 
and  passionate. " 

"Hero?"  echoed  Desiree,  with  a  curl  of  her  lip 
that  expressed  all  the  intolerant  scorn  of  youth. 

"What  else?"  Judith  laughed  rather  shrilly. 
"Even  if  Princess  Pafnuty  has  been  divorced  from 
her  first  husband  I  can't  see  that  it  matters.  If 
she  were  an  American  none  of  you  would  think 
twice  about  it!" 


Desiree  Tries  her  Wings         129 

"Ah,  an  American!"  Lady  Monica  sighed  re- 
gretfully.   "If  only  she  were  an  American,  Judy!" 

"But  she  isn't,"  said  Judith  bluntly.  "She 
doesn't  belong  to  any  nationality,  really.  She's 
just  an  electric  live-wire  sort  of  person." 

' '  How  very  uncomfortable ! "  murmured  Desiree. 

Lady  Monica  rose,  putting  a  stop  to  the  dis- 
cussion. 


CHAPTER  X 

JUDITH   TALKS   NONSENSE 

DESlRfeE  loved  Frayne;  loved  its  luxury,  its 
comfortable  spaciousness,  its  general  aspect  of 
pleasant  living :  but  not  as  she  loved  the  barer  grace 
of  her  own  home.  Only  two  generations  of  Blands 
had  lived  at  Frayne.  It  had  no  mellowness  of 
ancient  tradition,  as  houses  go.  It  had  had 
many  owners  since  its  first,  Robert  Gloucester, 
commissioned  the  Brothers  Adam  in  1764  to 
build  him  an  house  for  him  and  his  seed  to 
dwell  in  for  ever.  Alas,  for  the  frailty  of  human 
hopes!  The  seed  of  Robert  Gloucester  withered 
away,  and  the  stately  mansion  passed  through 
several  hands  before  it  finally  came  into  the  market 
and  was  bought  by  John  Bland's  father. 

Desiree  loved  the  frieze  of  stags'  heads  in  the 
brocade-hung  dining-room,  the  formal  garlands 
and  vases  of  the  lovely  oval  drawing-room,  but 
most  of  all  she  loved ^er  own  bedroom,  with  the 
little  turret-room  off  it,  which  had  once  been  a 
powdering-closet,  and  was  now  a  white  and  greep 
tiled  bath-room. 

Still,  for  all  her  delight  in  Frayne,  with  its 
130 


Judith  Talks  Nonsense  131 

leagues  of  gardens  stretching  through  flower- 
parterres,  fruit  gardens,  and  orchards  to  a  purple 
line  of  woodland,  she  never  wanted  to  live  there. 
A  visit  was  a  delight,  with  all  the  more  delight  in 
the  knowledge  of  its  impermanence. 

Something  of  this  flashed  through  her  mind  as 
she  sat  at  her  old  carved  dressing-table,  brushing 
her  hair  on  the  night  of  her  arrival.  It  was  a  per- 
fectly delightful  house  to  stay  in,  she  summed  up, 
but  it  had  not  the  feeling,  the  aroma  of  a  real  home. 
Vaguely  she  wondered  why. 

Judith  knocked,  and  without  waiting  for  an 
answer,  rushed  upon  her  meditations,  cigarette  in 
hand.  She  wore  a  burnt-orange  kimono  patterned 
with  dull  silver  dragons,  which  seemed  to  undulate 
as  she  moved  in  the  softened  light  of  the  electric 
globes  which  hung  over  the  dressing-table. 

She  threw  herself  upon  the  couch  at  the  foot  of 
the  old  carved  bed,  one  hand  behind  her  head,  the 
other  manipulating  the  cigarette. 

"It's  a  pity  you  don't  smoke,  Dede,"  she  said 
carelessly.  "It'd  be  much  more  sociable  if  you 
did." 

"But  I  feel  quite  sociable  without  it,"  Desiree 
said,  brushing  her  hair  until  it  stood  out  in  a  golden 
cloud  around  her. 

"Why  don't  you  let  Marchant  do  that?"  asked 
Judith  suddenly.  "I  don't  believe  I've  ever 
brushed  my  own  hair!" 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  like  people  to  touch  me,  "  cried 
Desiree,  laughing.     "No  one   has   ever  brushed 


132  The  Beloved  Sinner 

my  hair  but  mother!     I'm  not  used  to  having  a 
maid.  .  I  shouldn't  know  what  to  do  with  one.  " 

"You're  a  queer  little  thing,"  said  her  cousin 
musingly.     "Are  you  people  really  poor?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  We  are  what  you'd 
call  poor  probably,  but  we  have  everything  we 
want.  We  live  simply,  of  course,  but  everything's 
really  all  right.  Why  don't  you  come  to  Bressy 
and  see?" 

"Perhaps  I  shall  some  day."  Judith  fixed 
gloomy  eyes  on  the  ceiling  and  blew  a  series  of 
perfect  smoke-rings.  "At  present  I  loathe  the 
country  with  a  deadly  loathing.  I'm  going 
to  stay  here  till  after  the  wedding  simply  because 
I  know  I'm  a  wreck  and  looking  frightfully  plain 
and  old.  I  envy  you  your  freshness,  you  silly 
little  daisy  thing!  Your  brain  doesn't  worry 
you  as  mine  does.  .  .  .  Sometimes  I  feel  as  if 
I  were  possessed  of  a  devil  seeking  rest  and  finding 
none." 

"Oh,  Judy.  My  dear!  I  am  sorry.  Have 
you  seen  a  doctor?" 

"What  doctor  can  cast  out  devils?"  laughed 
Judith  shrilly.  "Feel  your  pulse,  look  at  your 
tongue,  order  a  tonic  or  a  rest-cure!  What's  the 
good  of  that  ?  Nothing  would  induce  me  to  take 
a  tonic,  and  a  rest-cure  would  only  drive  me  more 
crazy  than  I  am  already.  I  believe  it's  what  I 
really  want,  though,"  she  went  on,  throwing  her 
cigarette  into  the  wash-basin  where  it  fizzled  and 
went  out. 


Judith  Talks  Nonsense  133 

Desiree  hastily  picked  it  up  and  threw  it  into 
the  fireplace. 

"Why  can't  you  do  a  rest-cure  here?" 

Judith  laughed.  "How  can  I  when  that  Paf- 
nuty  woman  is  coming  down  tomorrow?  She'll 
never  rest  unless  she's  in  bed:  perhaps  not  even 
then.  I  believe  it  was  my  devil  that  possessed  me 
to  invite  her.  You  know  how  different  things 
seem  in  town.  I  was  taut  as  a  fiddle-string  then. 
Now  it  seems  as  if  the  string  had  suddenly  slack- 
ened." 

She  stretched  out  her  arms  full  length  beside 
her,  closed  her  eyes,  and  lay  an  instant  in  absolute 
stillness.  She  did  not  answer  when  Desiree  spoke 
to  her.  For  a  moment  the  girl  had  a  horrible 
impression  that  the  restless  spirit  had  burst  its 
bonds  and  left  its  silent  sheath  behind  on  the 
couch.  She  ran  over  and  shook  her  cousin's 
shoulder  with  hands  that  trembled. 

Judith  opened  her  eyes  and  laughed.     ' '  Did  I . 
frighten  you?"  she  asked.     "I  was  trying  to  pic- 
ture what  it  would  be  like  to  lie  still  in  death,  brain 
and  body  at  rest  for  ever." 

"I  don't  believe  your  brain  would  ever  rest," 
said  Desiree  rather  crossly,  for  she  had  been  really 
frightened.  ' '  We're  not  snuffed  out  like  that  when 
we  die." 

' '  You  believe  we — go  on  ? " 

"I  believe  we  go  on. " 

"For  ever  and  ever. " 

"I  suppose  so." 


134  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Judith  turned  suddenly  and  hid  her  face  against 
her  arm.  "Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!"  she  moaned 
softly. 

Desiree  went  to  the  couch  again  and  bent  over 
her.  "Judy,  what  is  the  matter?"  she  asked 
softly,  filled  with  a  sudden  pity  for  this  girl,  so 
little  older  than  herself,  who  was  on  the  rack  of 
some  hidden  torment.  "You  seem  to  me  to  have 
•everything  one  could  possibly  desire." 

"Everything  except  the  one  thing  that  makes 
life  worth  living,"  cried  Judith  in  muffled  tones. 

Desiree  drew  back  a  little.  "You  mean  a 
man?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  a  man,  you  little  silly!" 
Judith  sat  up  suddenly  and  pulled  the  pins  out  of 
her  hair.  It  fell  about  her  in  a  dark  cloud,  touched 
here  and  there  with  reddish  gleams.  She  clasped 
her  hands  round  her  knees  and  laid  her  face  against 
them.  "Who  else  could  make  one  suffer  the  tor- 
tures of  the  damned?" 

"Oh,  Judy!"  Some  inner  sense  felt  repelled 
by  the  unblushing  frankness  of  Judith's  avowal. 
It  was  like  showing  nakedness  unashamed.  How 
could  one  bare  such  inmost  intimate  secrecies  ? 

"Oh.  Dede!"  mocked  Judith.  "You  little 
pink  and  white  folded-up  thing,  you  draw  men 
without  effort  as  the  moon  draws  the  sea,  caring  as 
little.  How  should  you  know  what  I  feel,  what  I 
suffer?" 

"But  why  do  you  suffer,  Judy?  Doesn't  he 
care,  too?" 


Judith  Talks  Nonsense  135 

"I  don't  believe  he  even  remembers  my  exist- 
ence, "  cried  Judith  bitterly 

"Do  I  know  him?" 

"You've  seen  him.  The  Hardy  Norseman  we 
used  to  call  him."  She  mentioned  the  name  of 
a  rising  Norwegian  explorer  whom  Society  had 
tried  to  lionize  during  the  past  season ;  a  big,  fair, 
modest  man:  the  very  last  person  whom  Desiree 
would  have  imagined  attractive  to  Judith. 

"I  didn't  know " 

"How  could  you?  I  only  spoke  to  him  three 
times.  I  think  I  frightened  him.  He  was  very 
shy." 

Desiree  had  a  momentary  vision  of  the  Hardy 
Norseman  in  flight  from  the  pursuing  Judith,  who 
was  in  truth  suddenly  terrifying  in  the  ruthlessness 
of  her  self -revelation.  Life  seemed  full  of  puzzles. 
Why,  out  of  all  her  world  of  the  suitable  or  the' 
congenial,  should  Judy  have  set  her  wayward  heart 
upon  this  one  apparently  impossible  man  ? 

"What  made  you  care  for  him,  Judy?"  she 
asked,  avoiding  the  word  love  with  the  queer 
reticence  of  youth. 

"Why?  Why?  Why?  The  eternal  riddle  to 
which  there's  no  answer.  Because  he  was  big 
and  calm  and  safe  and  strong — Oh,  who  can  solve 
the  puzzle  of  the  attraction  of  one  person  for 
another?  It's  without  reason:  beyond  argument. 
It's  just  a  cruel,  inexplicable  fact,  a  bitter  practical 
joke  of  whatever  gods  there  be!  .  .  .  Here  am  I, 
eating  out  my  heart  for  a  man  who  doesn't  care  a 


136  The  Beloved  Sinner 

fig  for  anything  beyond  his  Polar  explorations, 
and  who  probably  wouldn't  remember  my  name  if 
it  were  suddenly  mentioned  to  him.  ...  If  he 
comes  back,  though,  I'll  make  him  remember  it!" 
she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"Poor  old  Judy!"  said  Desiree  softly.  "I 
think  it  must  be  much  harder  to  forget  you  than 
to  remember  you. " 

Judith  looked  up  with  a  queer  gleam  in  her 
restless  eyes.  "You  think  I  have  a  personality 
then?     That  I  make  an  impression?" 

"I  think  you  are  far  the  most  original  person 
I've  ever  met,  except  Cousin  Ludlow,"  said 
Desiree  frankly. 

"Oh,  that  old  dandy ! "  A  clock  on  the  chimney- 
piece  chimed  half -past  eleven,  and  turned  the 
train  of  Judith's  thoughts.  "Here  it  is,  nearly 
tomorrow,  and  the  Pafnuty  will  be  upon  us! 
What  on  earth  are  we  going  to  do  with  her?  It 
isn't  as  if  we  had  men  to  amuse  her.  There's 
the  doctor.  He  plays  quite  a  decent  game  of 
bridge,  and  fortunately  she's  keen  on  bridge. 
The  Vicar,  too.  He's  another  tolerably  sporting 
bachelor.  And,  of  course,  Jeremy  Vyse.  She 
wouldn't  be  bothered  with  him,  though. " 

"Who  is  Jeremy  Vyse?  I  haven't  heard  of  him 
before. " 

"You  must  have  heard  us  mention  the  Vyses. 
Oh,  I  forgot.  It  was  just  after  you  were  last  here 
that  they  came  back.  You  remember  Beaumont 
Keep,  that  queer  old  place  about  three  miles  from 


Judith  Talks  Nonsense  137 

this.  Margarine  magnates  had  it  then.  We 
didn't  know  them. " 

Desiree  nodded.  She  remembered  Beaumont 
Keep  very  well,  and  had  often  longed  to  explore  it. 
The  place  had  a  strange  fascination  for  her. 

"Beaumont  has  belonged  to  the  Vyses  ever 
since  the  Norman  Conquest.  They  are  as  proud 
as  Lucifer  and  at  one  time  were  fairly  well  off. 
The  late  Papa  Vyse's  first  wife  was  a  penniless 
beauty,  whose  chief  amusement  was  making 
money  fly,  an  art  which  requires  very  little  prac- 
tice! She  was  wildly  extravagant,  ran  up  bills 
everywhere,  and  lost  immense  sums  at  cards.  She 
died  suddenly.  Charitable  people  say  it  was  heart- 
failure,  uncharitable — suicide.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
Papa  Vyse  married  again  later  on  the  mother 
of  friend  Jeremy.  Mother  says  she  was  once 
handsome.  I  find  it  hard  to  believe  it.  She's  a 
terror,  with  a  steel-trap  mouth,  and  a  moustache. 
She  had  been  married  some  years  and  had  achieved 
Jeremy  when  Papa  Vyse  broke  his  neck  out  hunt- 
ing. Then  she  found  that  he  had  mortgaged 
Beaumont  up  to  the  hilt.  She  set  herself  to  pay 
the  mortgage,  let  Beaumont  to  one  rich  person 
after'  another,  and  lived  herself  in  a  vineyard 
near  Bordeaux,  of  all  places,  which  I  believe  she 
worked  quite  successfully.  Anyhow,  Jeremy  went 
to  Winchester  and  Magdalen,  after  which  he 
helped  her  to  manage  the  vineyard.  Then,  just  as 
the  mortgages  were  nearly  paid  off,  an  old  Vyse 
cousin  who  lived  near  this — the  Lodge,   you  re- 


138  The  Beloved  Sinner 

member — died,  and  left  them  an  unexpected  for- 
tune, so  Jeremy  and  Mrs.  Vyse  came  back  to 
Beaumont  with  flags  flying  about  two  years  ago, 
and  have  reigned  there  ever  since." 

"How  frightfully  interesting!"  Desiree  cried. 
"What  a  plucky  woman  Mrs.  Vyse  must  be! " 

"She  may  have  the  usual  heart  of  gold  hidden 
beneath  her  granite  exterior,  but  I  doubt  it.  She 
rules  poor  Jeremy  with  a  rod  of  iron.  I  believe 
she  made  him  swear  never  to  marry  any  woman 
who  gambles  or  gets  into  debt!  Poor  dog,  he'll 
have  a  limited  choice!" 

"What  is  he  like?"  asked  Desiree. 

"Oh,  he's  an  ugly  devil,  big  and  brown,  with  a 
jaw  like  his  mother's.  Dull  as  ditch-water,  too. 
Never  a  word  to  throw  to  a  woman.  Jill  and  I 
used  to  tease  him  unmercifully  when  he  came  to 
spend  his  holidays  with  old  Henry  Vyse.  We  do 
still.  Our  chief  solace  in  the  stupidities  of  the 
country  is  ragging  Jeremy!" 

Desiree  leaned  against  the  edge  of  her  bed, 
stifling  a  yawn,  ^he  felt  very  sleepy  and  wished 
that  Judy  would  go;  but  under  her  sleepiness 
an  odd  impression  lurked,  which  she  wanted 
to  take  out  and  ponder  over  in  solitude.  The 
moment  Judith  had  mentioned  Jeremy  Vyse  she 
had  thought  of  the  young  man  in  the  train,  she 
did  not  know  why. 

"Well,  I'm  off,"  said  Judith,  uncurling  herself, 
and  rising  with  swift  controlled  motions  which 
Desiree  supposed  were  Greek.     "I've  talked  my 


Judith  Talks  Nonsense  139 

devil  to  sleep  for  the  moment.  Good-night, 
absurd  child.  Dream  of  buttercups  and  daisies, 
and  forget  all  the  nonsense  I've  talked  this  eve- 
ning. " 

"Was  it  really  nonsense,  Judy?" 

"What  else?"  laughed  Judith,  slipping  away 
with  a  shimmering  of  orange  folds  and  silver 
dragons. 

But  Desiree  knew  as  she  climbed  into  the  old 
carved  bed  that  never  had  nonsense  rung  so  true. 
What  pitiful  incomprehensibility  was  it  that 
made  people  care  for  those  who  had  nothing  to 
give  them— Leander  Wing  for  her,  Judy  for  the  big 
Norwegian  ?  She  felt  sorry  for  Judy,  but  repelled 
at  the  same  time.  Some  inner  sense  of  delicacy  and 
reserve  was  outraged  by  such  frank  discussion 
of  what  should  be  absolutely  sacred  between 
two  only.  .  .  . 

Again  her  thoughts  flashed  back  to  the  young 
man  in  the  train.  Was  it  possible  that  he  could 
be  Jeremy  Vyse?  It  was  just  the  odd  old-fash- 
ioned sort  of  name  he  might  have.  He  was  big  and 
brown  certainly,  but  though  he  had  a  square 
line  of  jaw  no  one  could  possibly  call  him  an  ugly 
devil.  .  .  .  He  had  such  nice  eyes.  She  liked 
the  way  they  smiled  with  his  mouth.  Some 
people's  didn't  .  .  .  He  wasn't  dull  either.  .  .  . 
What  a  delicious  chance  if  he  really  turned  .  .  . 
out  .  .  .to  .  .  .  be  .  .  . 

Desiree  fell  happily  asleep  on  the  conjecture. 


CHAPTER  XI 


PRINCESS   PAFNUTY 


Next  morning's  post  brought  Desiree  a  letter 
from  her  mother,  enclosing  a  cheque  for  ten 
pounds. 

' '  I  have  been  lucky  in  some  recent  investments, " 
she  wrote,  "and  thought  my  chicken  might  find 
this  useful.  By  the  way,  apropos  of  money,  your 
father  had  a  letter  from  poor  Tom  Herring  the 
other  day,  enclosing  five  shillings,  the  first  instal- 
ment of  his  debt.  He  has  got  a  situation  in  Lon- 
don and  hopes  to  pay  the  rest  off  before  long.  He 
says  it  was  Tessie  Hart  who  got  him  the  post,  so 
it  shows  that  the  poor  little  girl  must  have  a 
conscience!" 

Ten  pounds!  What  a  darling  she  was  to  think 
of  it!  But  that  it  was  a  mere  drop  in  the  ocean 
Desir6e  knew  only  too  well !  She  had  not  yet  paid 
Anne  Silke  for  her  two  ball-gowns.  She  would 
send  her  this  money  on  account.  The  Trianon 
shepherdess  costume,  including  all  accessories, 
had  cost  fifteen  pounds.  There  had  been  a 
slight  uncertainty  about  the  price  of  the  other, 
and    Desiree,    in    the    face  of    Judy's    nonchal- 

140 


Princess  Pafnuty  141 

ance,  had  been  ashamed  to  make  too  meticulous 
enquiry. 

But  if  her  mother  had  been  making  lucky  invest- 
ments of  late  she  would  be  able  to  help  her.  She 
would  not  write  and  worry  her.  She  would  tell  her 
some  time  when  they  were  alone,  and  she  coiild 
hide  a  hot  shamed  face  against  her  knee  .  .  .  and 
promise  never  to  do  it  again. 

With  a  twist  of  thought  Desiree  wondered  if  her 
father  had  remembered  to  pay  back  the  eighteen 
and  ninepence  of  Tom's  debt.  She  was  sure  he  had : 
they  were  always  so  scrupulous  about  little  pay- 
ments, those  two :  so  delicately  fastidious  in  every 
relation.  She  had  never  heard  either  say  a  harsh 
or  even  petulant  word  to  the  other.  The  nearest 
approach  to  a  scene  which  she  had  ever  witnessed 
was  the  raised  eyebrows  of  her  father  at  a  faulty 
omelette  which  he  left  untasted,  and  the  quick, 
responsive  flush  on  her  mother's  face.  .  .  .  She 
had  heard  Uncle  John  roar  if  a  dish  were  not  to 
his  liking.  .  .  . 

Judith  did  not  appear  until  luncheon,  when  she 
tossed  a  letter  to  her  mother  across  the  table.  It 
was  written  in  a  large  untidy  hand,  giving  Frayne 
the  reprieve  of  a  day  from  the  expected  visitor,  and 
signed  "Lili  Pafnuty."  A  postscript  announced 
that  she  was  bringing  her  two  baby  dogs.  She 
could  not  live  without  them ! 

"Pekingese  probably,"  said  the  Squire,  in  a 
tone  of  deep  disgust.  "I'd  welcome  any  real 
dog,  but " 


142  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Desir^e  laughed  at  the  look  which  contorted 
his  wholesome  red  face. 

' '  It  might  have  been  cats,  Uncle  John, "  she  said, 
knowing  that  if  he  had  his  way  no  cat  would  be 
allowed  nearer  the  house  than  the  stable-yard. 
Lady  Monica's  blue  Persians  were  endured  only 
on  the  "Live  and  let  live"  principle. 

"Even  cats  are  better  than  Pekingese!  By 
the  way,"  the  Squire  continued.  "I  met  Jeremy 
Vyse  in  the  village  this  morning,  my  dear.  I  told 
him  you  were  back,  and  asked  him  up  to  lunch,  but 
he  couldn't  come. " 

"Wouldn't,  "put  in  Judith,  sotto  voce. 

"He  said  he'd  pay  his  respects  another  day.  " 

"We  must  have  him  to  dinner  when  Princess 
Pafnuty  is  here, "  said  Lady  Monica.  "We  could 
ask  the  Tumour-Bradys  and  Mr.  Mitcham  and  the 
doctor.  About  a  dozen — quite  informal.  Judy, 
will  you  write  the  invitations  after  luncheon,  or 
would  tomorrow  do?" 

"Always  put  off  till  tomorrow  what  you 
needn't  do  today, "  answered  Judith  in  her  laziest 
tones.  "Dede  will  be  delighted  to  oblige.  I'm 
going  to  do  a  one-day  rest-cure  in  the  garden.  " 

Desiree  glanced  quickly  at  her.  She  looked  just 
as  usual.  It  was  hard  to  see  her  as  the  passion- 
torn  woman  of  last  night.  .  .  . 

So  Judith  and  Desir6e  took  a  rest-cure  in  the 
rose-garden,  and  lounged  and  dozed  and  ate 
strawberries  and  read  novels,  and  inhaled  the 
sweet  pure  air  with,  on  Desiree' s  part  at  any  rate, 


Princess  Pafnuty  143 

a  keen  sense  of  delight.  She  had  not  known  how 
she  missed  the  country  until  she  was  deep  in  it 
again. 

"One  doesn't  really  breathe  in  London,"  she 
said.  "You  don't  notice  it  at  the  time,  but  you 
never  can  drink  in  the  air  like  this.  " 

"One  doesn't  want  to, "  murmured  Judith  sleep- 
ily. "London  is  the  only  place  where  one  can 
really  live,  and  yet  I'd  chuck  it  all  tomorrow  to 
follow  the  long  trail  if  I  had  the  chance.  " 

Desiree  was  silent.  What  strange  madness  was 
this  which  had  overpowered  the  clever,  sophisti- 
cated Judy  ?  ' '  Terrible  as  an  army  with  banners, ' ' 
and  as  irresistible,  apparently.  What  was  it 
Leander  Wing  had  said?  "There  is- no  armour 
against  Fate?"  Was  that  true?  Would  her 
Fate  swoop  out  of  the  blue  upon  her  one  day  and 
bear  her  away,  "like  a  straw  on  a  torrent"? 
For  a  moment  all  her  fluttering  instincts  rose, 
armed  against  the  thought  of  such  mastery :  then 
unbidden  on  the  heels  of  resistance  came  a  swift 
perception  of  how  sweet  submission  might  be. 
Such  a  thought  had  never  come  to  her  before. 
She  had  never  wanted  to  submit.  She  did  not 
now.  At  once  she  was  Eve — Eve  in  flight  from 
even  the  thought  of  pursuit.  .  .  . 

The  long  scented  day  ended  in  a  night  that 
seemed  short  because  of  its  sound,  dreamless 
sleep.  Desiree  awoke  to  a  vague  consciousness  of 
something  impending.  After  a  moment  she  knew 
what  it  was:  the  imminent  arrival  of    Princess 


144  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Pafnuty,  towards  whom  she  felt  a  curious  rasp  of 
antagonism  that  was  as  utteriy  unreasonable  as  it 
was  instinctive. 

She  wrote  the  invitations  for  the  forthcoming 
dinner-party  in  her  Aunt  Monica's  boudoir,  ad- 
dressing the  envelope  of  "Mrs.  Vyse,  Beaumont 
Keep,"  with  a  little  sparkle  of  pleasant  wonder. 
Presently  she  heard  the  sounds  of  the  expected 
arrival:  the  approach  of  the  car,  the  barking  of 
dogs,  voices  in  the  hall,  a  little  bustle  of  excitement, 
and  then  silence. 

The  door  opened  cautiously  and  the  Squire  came 
in  with  Clough,  the  Clumber  spaniel,  at  his  heels. 

"You  there,  Ded6?"  He  sank  into  a  chair, 
mopping  a  heated  forehead.  "By  Gad,  what  a 
woman!" 

' '  What's  she  like,  Uncle  John  ? ' '  Desir6e  swung 
round  to  face  him,  all  curiosity. 

"If  you  can  imagine  a  whirlwind  in  petticoats, 
and  not  many  of  'em  at  that,  you  have  her!" 

"Why,  Uncle  John,  that's  an  epigram!" 
cried  Desiree,  wondering  vaguely  where  and  of 
whom  she  had  heard  a  somewhat  similar  de- 
scription. 

"The  deuce  it  is!  She'd  talk  the  hind  leg  off  a 
donkey.  In  and  out  of  the  hall,  half-way  upstairs, 
then  down  again,  jabbering  three  languages  at  once 
to  Judy,  her  maid,  and  the  dogs,  till  I  felt  as  if  I  was 
in  a  parrot-house.     I'd  prefer  it,  by  Gad ! " 

"The  dogs!     Are  they  Pekingese?" 

' '  No,  the  Lord  be  praised.     They're  real  dogs,  a 


Princess  Pafnuty  145 

magnificent  pair  of  Borzois.  Only  decent  thing 
I've  seen  so  far  about  the  woman.  Poor  old 
Clough  didn't  like  'em,  though.  Did  you,  old 
boy?"     He  pulled  the  spaniel's  ear. 

"You  haven't  yet  told  me  what  she's  like.  " 

"All  eyes,  and  about  the  size  of  a  tomtit," 
grunted  the  Squire.  "What  on  earth  does  Judy 
see  in  these  freaks?  Give  me  a  woman  who  can 
sit  a  horse,  or  a  fresh  wholesome  little  girl  like 
yourself. " 

Desiree  swept  him  a  curtsey.  .  "Mais,  merci 
bien,  monsieur." 

"For  the  Lord's  sake,  don't  talk  French  at  me, 
child!     I  can't  stand  it. " 

Desiree  went  up  to  him  and  slipped  her  hand 
through  his  arm.  "We  have  half  an  hour  before 
luncheon.  Let's  go  round  the  stables  and  forget 
all  about  our  exalted  visitor. " 

But  no  such  Lethe  was  to  be  theirs.  As  they 
crossed  the  hall  quietly,  with  the  air  of  conspir- 
ators, there  was  a  soft  rush  and  flurry  from  above, 
a  quick  patter  down  the  stairs,  and  a  sound  which 
was  imperative  though  scarcely  articulate. 

"Pssttt!" 

They  turned  quickly  to  see  a  picturesque  group 
on  the  leopard-skin  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs:  a 
tiny  person  in  a  white  smock-like  garment  stand- 
ing between  two  stately  Borzois,  with  a  hand  on 
the  collar  of  each. 

At  first  glance  it  seemed  to  Desiree  as  if  it  were  a 
child  who  faced  them,  so  elfin-small  were  the  little 


146  The  Beloved  Sinner 

figure,  the  sandalled  feet,  and  the  pointed  face 
beneath  the  big  rush  hat  tied  on  with  a  daffodil 
ribbon.  It  was  only  upon  nearer  view  that  one  saw 
the  fading  of  the  skin  from  its  earlier  whiteness, 
the  faint  irresistible  pattering  of  Time,  the  endless 
desire  of  the  mouth,  the  hungry  darting  of  the 
large  restless  eyes,  golden-hazel  as  those  of  some 
predatory  animal.  "All  eyes  and  tongue"  the 
Squire  had  called  her.  It  was  a  good  description 
Desiree  thought,  as  she  listened  to  the  torrent 
loosed  upon  her  Uncle  in  the  Princess's  high  hard 
little  voice. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Bland,  you  are  going  out!  I  am  just 
in  time.  Take  me,  too.  I  am  avid  for  the  country. 
I  want  to  drink  in  its  green  simplicity.  But  who  is 
this? "  She  glanced  at  Desiree,  but  scarcely  waited 
for  the  Squire's  murmured  introduction,  and 
went  on  in  rapid  French.  ' '  What  a  wicked  child ! 
She  kills  me.  Near  her  out  goes  my  blonde  cendree, 
poicf,  like  a  candle-flame!  What  can  one  do? 
If  it  were  not  for  Lady  Monica  I  should  put  on  a 
red  wig,  but  how  can  a  Greuze  compete  with  a 
Titian  ?  Mon  dieu,  what  a  world  for  the  eternally 
young,  like  me!" 

For  a  moment  Desiree  thought  that  she  must  be 
joking,  so  astounding  was  the  naivete  with  which 
she  spoke.  It  was  difficult  to  realize  that  Prin- 
cess Pafnuty  had  spent  two  thirds  of  a  lifetime  in 
saying  whatever  happened  to  come  into  her  head, 
and  doing  exactly  as  she  pleased,  with  a  whole- 
hearted disregard  for  the  feelings  or  convenience 


Princess  Pafnuty  147 

of  her  fellow-creatures,  which  is  vouchsafed  to 
none  but  those  of  inflexible  will  and  inexhaustible 
vitality.  She  had  yet  to  learn  that  this  tiny,  fair, 
faded  body  was  but  the  sheath  of  a  personality  as 
tireless  as  a  fine  steel  spring. 

The  candour  of  her  speech  tickled  Desiree's  sense 
of  humour,  and  eyes  and  mouth  laughed  as  she 
answered  in  her  best  French. 

"I  assure  you,  Madame,  that  I  am  desolated 
at  producing  such  an  effect.  I  can  only  suggest 
that  you  should  enlist  Time  on  your  side  and  get 
him  to  turn  my  hair  grey  as  quickly  as  possible. " 

The  Princess  shot  a  swift  glance  at  her  out  of 
eyes  grown  suddenly  suspicious.  Was  the  girl  try- 
ing to  be  witty  at  her  expense,  or  was  she  merely 
impertinent?  She  could  read  nothing  but  amuse- 
ment in  the  charming  young  face  turned  towards 
her,  and  her  egoism  was  so  profound  that  she 
brushed  the  unflattering  idea  aside,  and  laughed 
too. 

"Good!  You  speak  French,  then,  the  only 
civilized  language !  We  shall  converse  in  it,  if  you 
please." 

"My  uncle  does  not  understand  it,"  said  Desiree, 
quietly. 

' '  English  is  good  enough  for  me, ' '  murmured  the 
Squire,  reddening  and  moving  restlessly  towards 
the  door.  Clough  growled  in  his  throat  at  the 
Borzois. 

The  Princess  laughed.  "Ah,  now  I  know  that 
I  am  truly  in  England!"  she  cried.     "English  is 


148  The  Beloved  Sinner 

good  enough  for  you !  But  that,  of  course,  is  what 
makes  you  all  so  adorably — English!" 

"But  I  thought  you  were  English,"  said  the 
Squire,  bewildered. 

"I  am  of  no  nationality,  but  all  nationalities. 
I  am  a  citizen  of  the  world,  a  child  of  nature,  part 
of  the  universal, soul.  I  sometimes  think  that  I 
am  the  reincarnation  of  some  untrammelled 
Greek — ^Atalanta,  perhaps.  Ah,  Mr.  Bland,  it 
would  be  of  no  use  to  throw  down  your  golden 
apples  before  me  now !  Experience  has  taught  me 
to  stoop  for  nothing,  but  press  on  towards  the 
goal." 

The  Squire  had  not  the  faintest  idea  what  she 
was  driving  at.  He  turned  despairing  eyes  or. 
Desiree. 

'"Fraid  we  haven't  time  to  go  round  the  stables 
before  lunch,"  he  murmured.  "I  must  take 
Clough  to  the  kennels,  or  he'll  fight  with  your 
fellows. "     He  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Ah,  my  darling  baby  dogs,  they  must  have  a 
run  before  lunch.     Come  along,  mes  mies  !'' 

Swift  as  a  swallow  she  darted  out  through  the 
hall-door^  and  was  down  the  steps,  and  out  of  the 
court-yard  in  a  flash,  the  two  dogs  racing  beside 
her, 

' '  Mad ! ' '  said  the  Squire.  ' '  Quite  mad !  And  a 
bit  of  a  mbngrel,  too,  on  her  own  telling.  I'm 
going  to  disappear  before  she  gets  back.  No, 
Ded6,  you  mustn't  come,  too.  It  would  look  rude 
if  we  all  went." 


Princess  Pafnuty  149 

He  made  a  bolt  for  a  side-door  which  opened  on 
a  flight  of  steps  leading  down  to  the  garden,  and 
vanished.  Desir6e  listened  for  the  sound  of  foot- 
steps, but  all  was  still.  She  had  a  feeling  that  her 
Aunt  Monica  and  Judy  were  safely  immured  in 
the  shelter  of  their  own  rooms  and  would  not 
emerge  before  the  summons  of  the  luncheon-gong. 
For  a  moment  she,  too,  contemplated  flight;  but 
the  instinct  of  hospitality  was  inherent  in  her  as 
well  as  acquired,  so  she  took  up  Punch  from  the 
hall-table  and  sat  down  on  the  couch  to  await, 
with  as  good  a  grace  as  she  could  accomplish, 
the  return  of  the  disturbing  visitor. 

"I  believe  she  gets  her  vitality  by  draining  other 
people  of  theirs, ' '  she  thought.  ' '  I  feel  quite  tired 
already,  and  Uncle  John  seemed  exhausted.  If 
she's  a  reincarnation  of  anything  it's  a  vampire!" 

The  events  of  the  day  confirmed  her  in  her 
fantastic  theory. 

Instead  of  resting  after  luncheon,  as  any  civilized 
woman  past  her  first  youth  should  only  be  too  glad 
to  do,  thought  Lady  Monica,  Princess  Pafnuty 
declared  that  she  was  quite  rested,  and  all  that 
she  needed  was  the  country  air. 

'  *  I  want  to  drink  it  in — to  have  a  real  debauch  of 
it, "  she  declared.  ' '  You  know  the  craving  drunk- 
ards have,  Mr.  Bland.  Well,  that's  just  how  I 
feel.  I  want  to  rush  [through  the  air  at  least 
sixty  miles  an  hour.  That  is  the  only  way  to  blow 
the  London  smuts  out  of  my  lungs. " 

"You  can  have  one  of  the  cars  with  pleasure," 


150  The  Beloved  Sinner 

said  Lady  Monica,  "but  please  remember  that 
Mr.  Bland  is  a  magistrate,  and  that  his  chauffeur 
is  not  allowed  to  exceed  the  speed  limit. " 

"Speed  limits  are  like  men's  hearts,  made 
to  be  broken,"  returned  the  Princess,  with  a 
flashing  smile.  "Then  that  is  understood. 
You  will  come  too,  dear  Lady  Monica.  And 
Mr.  Bland?" 

Lady  Monica  smiled  comfortably.  ' '  Not  today. 
You  young  people  may  imperil  your  lives  if  you 
like." 

"Give  me  a  horse,  "  the  Squire  murmured.  "I 
only  use  a  car  when  absolutely  necessary. " 

"Ah,  you  dear  Englishman!"  laughed  the 
Princess,  pleased  at  her  inclusion  among  the  young 
people,  whose  mother  she  might  easily  have  been. 
' '  Lady  Monica,  do  you  know  that  you  are  married 
to  a  typical  John  Bull?" 

"Pve  often  suspected  it,"  Lady  Monica  re- 
turned, smiling.  .   .  . 

Fortunately  for  Mr.  Bland's  reputation  police 
traps  were  unknown  in  the  roads  about  Frayne, 
for  fast  as  the  chauffeur  sent  the  car.  Princess  Paf- 
nuty  urged  him  to  yet  greater  speed. 

Desiree  still  felt  the  song  of  the  rushing  wind  in 
her  ears  as  she  took  off  her  motor-bonnet  and 
brushed  back  the  bright  waves  of  her  hair. 

"Surely  she  will  be  content  to  rest  after  tea," 
she  thought.     "I  shall,  at  any  rate." 

But  the  little  Princess  was  tireless.  After  tea 
she  insisted  upon  tennis. 


Princess  Pafnuty  151 

"It  is  waste  of  a  beautiful  lawn  not  to  play," 
she  declared. 

"But  we've  no  men,  and  there  are  only  three  of 
us, "  Judith  protested. 

"If  you  were  a  woman  of  resource  like  me,  you 
would  get  the  chauffeur  to  make  a  fourth. "  . 

*  'But  I'm  not  a  woman  of  resource. " 

' '  I  am.  I  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket,  and  pouf  I 
a  fourth  that  will  not  shock  the  conventions!  A 
female  fourth,  and  a  good  player. " 

"Produce  your  paragon,"  said  Judith. 

"Ring  the  bell  three  times  and  she  will  ap- 
pear." 

"Your  maid?"     Judith  raised  her  eyebrows. 

"Lisaveta  is  my  companion  as  well  as  my  maid. 
She  is  either,  neither,  or  both  as  I  desire.  She  can 
fence,  skate,  play  the  piano,  and  is  an  excellent 
masseuse. " 

"I  did  well  to  call  her  a  paragon,"  said  Judith 
drily. 

'  'Come,  then.  I  play  in  sandals.  Go  and  put 
on  your  shoes.  I  shall  play  with  Lisaveta  first  to 
see  how  we  shape.  Then  we  can  change  partners 
according  to  our  play.  You  two  have  the  advan- 
tage in  height,  if  it  is  an  advantage.  One  thing 
more.  I  cannot  do  with  conventions  or  titles,  I  am 
a  child  of  nature.  I  shall  call  you  Judy  and  D6d6, 
and  you  must  call  me  Lili. " 

But  as  Desiree  ran  upstairs  to  change  her  shoes, 
she  felt  an  absurd  resentment  at  the  idea  of  Princess 
Pafnuty  calling  her  by  her  pet  name,  and  vowed 


152  The  Beloved  Sinner 

in  her  heart  that  nothing  would  ever  induce  her  to 
call  her  Lili. 

Tennis  went  on,  energetic,  well-fought  games, 
in  which  the  Princess  leaped  from  side  to  side 
of  the  court  with  the  agility  of  a  grasshopper, 
until  the  dressing-gong  sounded  in  the  distance. 
Desir6e  thought  that  she  had  really  never  thor- 
oughly appreciated  the  quiet  of  her  own  home 
before. 

Princess  Pafnuty's  tongue  never  ceased  during  a 
meal  that  seemed  unduly  long.  Conversation  was 
practically  a  monologue.  She  darted  from  topic 
to  topic,  from  one  flight  of  fancy  to  another,  with 
the  same  grasshopper  quickness. 

After  dinner  she  insisted  on  going  down  to  the 
distant  wood  to  hear  the  nightingales,  though 
Mr.  Bland  assured  her  that  they  never  sang  in 

July. 

"I  know  I've  heard  them  in  July, "  she  persisted. 
"Not  as  full  a  song,  perhaps,  but  I  know  I've  heard 
them.  The  country  isn't  the  country  without 
nightingales,  is  it,  Dede?" 

"You  can't  expect  the  poor  birds  to  sing  all  the 
year  round, "  said  Desiree. 

"How  obstinate  you  all  are!"  cried  the  Princess. 
"Come  with  me  and  be  convinced." 

"Yes,  you  must  come,  Dede, "  said  Judith,  link- 
ing her  arm  in  her  cousin's. 

"I'll  come,  but  no  one  will  ever  convince  me 
that  nightingales  sing  in  July." 

After  a  dewy  scramble  through  silent  woods 


Princess  Pafnuty  153 

they  retiimed  to  the  drawing-room  to  find  Lady 
Monica  and  Mr.  Bland  comfortably  asleep. 

"The  night  is  young.  How  shall  we  amuse 
ourselves?"  cried  Princess  Pafnuty,  in  no  wise 
abashed  by  her  failure  to  find  the  nightingales. 
"Ah,  I  know!  Let's  waken  your  deaj:  father  and 
mother  and  give  them  an  exhibition  of  barefoot 
dancing.  We'll  have  Lisaveta  in  to  play  for  us,  or 
perhaps  Ded6  would. " 

"We'll  be  charmed  to  see  you  dance,  my  dear 
Lili,  if  you'll  be  so  good,"  said  Judith,  with  the 
politeness  of  determination,  "but  as  for  me,  I  am 
exhausted.  I'm  supposed  to  be  doing  a  rest-cure, 
you  know." 

"Pouf!"  cried  the  Princess.  "That  for  your 
rest-cures !  Stagnation  is  death.  Who  ever  heard 
of  rest-cures  in  the  country?  Besides  you  can 
have  one  when  I  go. " 

"I  think  I  shall  need  it,"  said  Judith. 

The  Princess  laughed  and  rang  the  bell  for  Lisa- 
veta, a  dark,  pale  Russian,  with  black  hair  and  a 
face  like  a  mask.  Desiree  wondered  what  was 
beneath  it.  She  had  never  before  seen  so  impas- 
sive a  face.  She  thought  that  any  one  who  lived 
with  Princess  Pafnuty  would  need  to  be  made  of 
granite.  .  .  . 

The  next  day  repeated  the  programme  of  the 
preceding  one  with  the  fidelity  of  an  echo,  save 
that  the  Princess  fenced  with  Lisaveta  and  assidu- 
ously practised  her  barefoot  dancing  in  the  morn- 
ing hours.    Her  coming  seemed  to  galvanize  Judith 


154  The  Beloved  Sinner 

to  a  fresh  outburst  of  energy,  but  Desiree  felt 
fatigued,  as  if  she  had  been  suddenly  caught  up 
into  a  whirlwind. 

At  dinner  the  Squire,  who  loved  a  little  bit  of 
gossip  about  his  kind,  thrust  an  item  of  local  news 
across  the  monologue. 

"I  met  the  Bishop  of  Farminster  this  afternoon, 
my  dear,"  he  said,  determinedly  addressing  his 
wife.  "He  had  been  holding  a  confirmation  at 
Cottenham,  and  was  going  to  spend  the  night  at 
Beaumont." 

"Where  is  Cottenham,  Uncle  John?"  asked 
Desiree,  her  attention  caught  by  the  name  of  the 
place  to  which  the  young  man  in  the  train  had 
been  going. 

"About  twelve  miles  from  here. " 

"And  where  and  what  is  Beaumont,  and  why  is 
the  Bishop  going  to  stay  there?"  cried  Princess 
Pafnuty. 

"Beaumont  Keep  is  a  weird  old  place  where 
dwell  a  most  proper  young  man  and  his  Gorgon 
Mamma,"  answered  Judith. 

"Now,  Judy,  that's  a  most  misleading  de- 
scription. Jeremy's  an  awfully  good  fellow  and 
his  mother  is  one  in  a  thousand." 

"Heaven  be  praised  for  that!"  murmured  Judy, 
wickedly. 

"Eleanor  Vyse  had  a  fine  character,"  Lady 
Monica  pursued. 

"Do  fine  characters  go  with  moustaches?" 
Judith  interrupted. 


Princess  Pafnuty  155 

"But  how  intriguing!"  cried  the  Princess. 
"Does  the  bearded  mamma  keep  her  immaculate 
son  locked  up  in  the  Keep  lest  Judy  should  steal 
him?  And  what  does  the  Bishop  do  in  that 
gaUre  ?  I  have  always  longed  to  shock  an  English 
bishop,  but  I  have  never  even  met  one.  Cardi- 
nals I  have  met  in  Rome,  and  popes  in  Russia, 
but " 

"Did  you  succeed  in  shocking  them?" 

"My  dear  Judy,  it  would  be  almost  impossible 
to  shock  a  cardinal!  As  for  the  Russian  popes 
they  are  all  married  men,  so  there  you  are!" 
Princess  Pafnuty  bit  her  lip,  and  pondered  some- 
thing for  a  moment  with  a  wicked  sparkle  in  her 
half -closed  eyes.  There  was  a  short  but  appreci- 
able silence,  then  the  monologue  rippled  on  anew. 

After  dinner  the  Princess  lay  without  speaking 
in  a  long  cane  chair  on  the  terrace,  smoking  cigar- 
ette after  cigarette.  Judith  and  Desiree  glanced  at 
each  other,  not  daring  to  speak  lest  they  should 
break  the  spell  ot  this  brief  breathing-space. 

At  last  the  moon  thrust  a  golden  shoulder  over 
the  dark  line  of  woodland,  rising  slowly  until  the 
upper  blue  of  the  evening  sky  transmuted  her  to  a 
serene  splendour  of  silver. 

Then  Princess  Pafnuty  clapped  her  little  hands 
with  a  suddenness  that  startled  the  others,  who 
had  wandered  far  from  Frayne,  and  were  lost  in 
dreams  of  their  own. 

"I  was  waiting  for  that, "  she  cried.  "Waiting 
until  the  moon,  who  had  seen  so  many  wicked- 


156  The  Beloved  Sinner 

nesses  that  she  has  no  blushes  left,  should  have 
lit  a  lantern  for  us.  Burnt-out  old  creature,  who 
lives  only  for  herself!  Why  shouldn't  we  make 
use  of  her?" 

"What  mischief  are  you  hatching  now?"  asked 
Judith  suspiciously. 

"No  mischief,  but  an  idyll, "  cried  the  Princess, 
with  a  laugh.  ' '  I  have  been  arranging  in  my  mind 
a  little  fete  for  the  Bishop.  He  shall  see  the 
fairies  dance!" 

"What  fairies?" 

"You  and  I,  my  Judy,  and  the  little  Dede. " 

"I'm  not  going  to  dance  for  twenty  bishops," 
Desir6e  declared,  ruffling. 

"Not  for  twenty,  but  for  one,  chirie.  It  is  all 
settled.  You  must  not  spoil  my  pHite  fete.  Judy 
has  her  Greek  dress.  You  shall  have  one  of  mine : 
my  sandals,  too,  though  they  will  be  rather  small. 
You  will  tell  Brett,  Judy,  not  to  lock  the  little 
garden-door  until  we  return.  We  shall  take  the 
small  car.  Lisaveta  shall  drive.  She  can  wait 
in  the  road  for  us,  and  we  can  steal  up  beneath 
the  old  Keep,  and  dance  upon  its  lawn  or  terrace, 
or  whatever  is  most  convenable." 

Judith's  imagination  was  fired.  Here  was  a 
chance  of  teasing  Jeremy  at  the  moment  of  his 
greatest  propriety,  the  entertaining  of  a  bishop. 

"It  would  be  rather  a  rag,"  she  said.  "We 
mustn't  let  mother  know,  though.  She  has  a 
strange  liking  for  the  Vyses.     Come  along,  Ded6. " 

"Oh,  no,  I'm  not  going,"  Desir6e  protested. 


Princess  Pafnuty  157 

"Don't  be  a  little  spoil-sport.  Of  course  you're 
coming,"  said  Judith.  "It  will  be  rather  fun. 
We'll  let  our  hair  down.     No  one  wiU  know  us. " 

"We  must  have  our  p'Hte  f^te/'  insisted  the 
Princess,  with  her  knack  of  sweeping  aside 
obstacles.  "Here  am  I,  the  elf,  you  the  fay,  and 
Judy  the  brown  dryad.  What  a  treat  for  the 
Bishop!  We  shall  be  gone  long  before  they  can 
even  guess  who  we  are.'  Come,  D6de,  you  and  I 
will  dance  around  our  dryad.  Our  hair  will  be 
like  a  fleece  of  pale  gold  and  our  feet  silver  in  the 
moonlight.  Mon  dieu,  I  am  a  poet!  But  I  shall 
dance  my  poems  to  shock  your  Bishop. " 

"I  don't  think  that  bishops  are  so  easily 
shocked,"  said  Desiree,  yielding  reluctantly. 

"That  shows  how  little  you  know.  True  art 
in  any  form  is  the  one  thing,  par  excellence,  to 
shock  a  bishop!" 


CHAPTER  XII 

MOON  MAGIC 

The  terrace  at  Beaumont  Keep  looked  across 
what  remained  of  the  old  moat  to  a  park,  whose 
wide  lawns  were  interspersed  with  groups  of  noble 
trees.  Through  their  interarching  branches  the 
moon  shone  brilliantly,  damascening  the  dewy 
grass  beneath  with  a  pattern  of  silver  barred  with 
black,  and  widening  in  the  open  to  flooded  pools  of 
light.  Here  and  there  deer  browsed,  silhouetted 
against  the  shining  spaces,  or  moved,  small 
shadows  among  the  masses  of  deeper  shade. 

The  Bishop  of  Farminster  sat  with  his  host  and 
hostess  on  the  terrace  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the 
night  and  the  fragrance  of  a  good  cigar.  Like 
most  preachers,  he  liked  to  hear  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice,  and  Jeremy  and  his  mother  were  both 
adepts  in  the  art  of  listening.  They  had  been 
discussing  the  survival  of  superstition:  the  per- 
sistent belief  in  omens,  even  in  fairies. 

"It  exists,  and  not  only  among  the  ignorant,  to 
a  surprising  degree,"  the  Bishop  was  saying. 
"Extraordinary  that  it  should  be  found  at  all  in 
these  days  of  modem  science." 

158 


Moon  Magic  159 

"It  simply  shows  that  people  must  have  some- 
thing outside  themselves  to  believe  in,"  Jeremy- 
answered.     ' '  What  else  is  religion  after  all  ? " 

"That's  not  the  point,"  said  the  Bishop,  with 
gentle  authority.  * '  Superstition  in  a  race  is  merely 
a  proof  of  imagination.  In  an  individual  it  seems 
to  be  a  sur-zival  of  fetish  worship.  In  Ireland, 
incredible  though  it  may  appear,  the  belief  in  the 
Good  People,  as  they  call  fairies,  firmly  exists. 
I  met  an  old  man  who  swore  to  me  that  his  father 
had  seen  them  dancing  round  an  old  fort  in  the 
moonlight.  ...  A  farrago  of  impossible  non- 
sense!" 

"On  such  a  night  as  this — "  Jeremy  began  to 
quote,  but  stopped  half-way. 

Into  the  pool  of  light  nearest  the  moat  stepped 
three  figures  straight  out  of  the  mythical  land  they 
had  been  discussing:  a  slim  brown  one,  straight 
as  a  larch  trunk,  with  a  night-black  cloud  of  hair 
flowing  about  her  bare  white  shoulders,  and  two 
elfin  creatures  in  white  and  pale  blue,  on  whose 
ivory  limbs  and  misty  fair  hair  the  moon  poured 
down  a  silver  radiance.  They  paused,  flung  their 
arms  aloft,  and  with  gestures  of  infinite  grace  began 
to  dance,  bending  to  their  own  shadows,  which 
lengthened  or  diminished  to  each  motion. 

The  Bishop's  eye  was  caught  by  the  moving 
forms.  He  bent  forward,  as  if  he  could  not  beUeve 
the  evidence  of  his  eyes. 

"But  what  are  these?"  he  asked  incredulously. 

"These  are  the  Good  People  come  dancing  out 


i6o  The  Beloved  Sinner 

of  their  fort  to  give  you  the  lie  direct, "  answered 
Jeremy,  with  a  faint  chuckle. 

Mrs.  Vyse  looked,  gave  a  little  sniff,  and  looked 
away  again. 

"It's  those  mad  girls  from  Frayne, "  she  said. 
"I  heard  that  Judith  Bland  had  taken  up  this  new 
craze  for  barefoot  dancing.  That  is  no  reason, 
though,  why  they  should  come  here  half-naked, 
and  give  us  an  exhibition  of  it.  Disgusting,  I  call 
it!" 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't,"  said  Jeremy  quietly.  "It 
really  is  rather — ^fascinating.  Don't  you  think 
so,  Bishop?" 

"We — ell,  pretty,  perhaps,  but — er — scarcely 
modest,"  the  Bishop  demurred,  with  a  glance  at 
Mrs.  Vyse,  and  back  again  at  the  flitting  figures,  on 
whom  it  remained  fixed. 

"There's  nothing  necessarily  immodest  in  bare 
feet, "  Jeremy  protested.  .  .  . 

Judith,  in  defiance  of  the  canons  of  Greek  Art, 
had  insisted  upon  bringing  her  castanets,  which 
she  clipped  above  her  head,  swaying  her  lithe  body 
in  time  to  their  beat.  The  other  two  had  gathered 
long  fern-leaves  on  their  way  through  the  park 
and  waved  them  this  way  and  that  in  swift  fan- 
tastic gesture.  The  Princess's  mood  had  infected 
Desiree.  She  felt  touched  by  the  moon  magic  to 
impulses  of  airy  fantasy.  Round  and  roimd  the 
central  figure  they  tripped,  white  feet  gleaming  in 
the  moonlight  and  seeming  to  skim  the  dew-hung 
grass,  hair  flying  in  pale  mists  about  snowy  shoul- 


Moon  Magic  i6i 

ders  as  they  ran,  light  as  leaves  blown  by  the  wind. 
It  was  as  if  their  feet  wove  a  magic  circle  from 
which  they  could  not  stir  until  the  spell  was  broken. 
Enchantment  lay  upon  them,  breathless  in  its 
promise  of  joys  unknown. 

They  were  part  of  the  mystery  of  the  night :  one 
with  the  dew  and  the  shadows,  the  silver  lucence 
and  the  soft  whispering  air.  Desiree  felt  as  if  she 
were  dancing  upon  the  edge  of  some  mystic  secret 
to  which  the  heavens 

Enwrought  with  golden  and  silver  light, 
The  blue  and  the  dim  and  the  dark  cloths 
Of  night  and  light  and  the  half  light, 

leaned  down  to  listen. 

Suddenly  the  spell  was  broken.  The  Princess 
stopped. 

"Pssttt!"  she  whispered.  "Someone  comes! 
We  must  fly.     Run !     Run ! ' ' 

Desiree  looked  over  her  shoulder.  A  dark 
figure  loomed  towards  them  across  the  moon- 
washed  lawn.  The  Princess  fled  with  little  elfin 
shrieks  of  laughter ;  Judith  ran  after  her.  Desiree's 
short  skirts  were  no  hindrance  to  flight.  She  ran, 
too,  but,  fleet-footed  as  she  was,  she  could  not 
overtake  the  two  darting  figures  in  front,  who  were 
making  for  the  little  gate  in  the  park  wall  by  which 
they  had  entered,  having  left  Lisaveta  waiting  in 
the  car  outside. 

She  drew  quick  breaths  as  she  turned  to  the 


i62  The  Beloved  Sinner 

nearest  glade,  gasps  of  excitement  rather  than  fear. 
She  paused  for  a  moment  beneath  a  tree  and 
glanced  over  her  shoulder  again.  The  dark  figure 
had  emerged  from  the  deeper  shadows  and  stood 
irresolute.  There  was  a  rustle  in  the  bracken 
behind  her,  and  the  sharp  sound  of  a  cracked  stick. 
She  fled  once  more,  laughing  and  panting,  primitive 
woman  fleeing  from  primitive  man.  On  and  on 
she  ran  until  the  moon  went  in  behind  a  cloud. 
Then  it  was  as  if  the  mystery  of  the  night  caught 
her.  She  did  not  know  which  way  to  turn.  She 
felt  lost,  frightened.  Joy  merged  into  fear.  She 
was  alone  in  a  dark  wood,  running  from  a  strange 
man.  She  had  an  instant  vision  of  Leander  Wing, 
a  swift  inexplicable  horror  of  the  web  of  trees  in 
which  she  found  herself  entangled.  Not  for 
nothing  had  she  eaten  of  the  woman's  Tree  of 
Knowledge:  that  goblin  fruit  which  is  hot  to  the 
mouth  and  bitter  withal. 

Suddenly  her  foot  caught  in  a  knotted  root,  and 
she  stumbled  forward  with  a  little  sob.  The 
cracking  in  the  undergrowth  grew  loud  as  a  roar 
to  her  excited  fancy. 

She  was  caught!  Strong  arms  lifted  and  held 
her.     She  gave  a  little  cry  and  struggled  faintly- 

' '  I've  got  you  at  last,  you  mad  thing ! "  exclaimed 
a  man's  voice,  laughing  and  panting.  "No,  you 
don't!  It's  my  turn  now  after  the  chase  you've 
led  me." 

She  shrank  away  from  him  and  twisted  in  his 
arms.     A  sudden  doubt  came  to  Jeremy  Vyse. 


Moon  Magic  163 

This  was  not  Judith,  this  slender  panting  creature, 
whose  terrified  heartbeats  shook  his  hand,  whose 
soft  contact  fired  his  blood  as  no  woman  had  ever 
fired  it  before. 

Then  came  the  miracle  of  light  upon  darkness. 
The  moon  sprang,  sudden  as  a  silver  flame,  from 
behind  the  cloud,  and  sent  a  shaft  full  upon  their 
faces,  revealing  each  to  each. 

"Why,  it's  you!"  cried  Desiree,  happily,  in  the 
sweetest  voice  he  had  ever  heard. 

Her  fear  fell  from  her  like  a  cloak,  leaving  her 
robed  in  radiance.  In  truth  she  looked  a  veri- 
table creature  of  dew  and  starlight,  as  she  stood 
there  beneath  the  moon's  rays  in  the  filmy  blue 
draperies  which  half-concealed  and  half-revealed 
the  white  wonder  of  her  bare  feet  and  arms. 

"  You!''  he  echoed,  in  a  curiously  changed  tone. 

Gently  he  loosed  her,  his  eyes  never  leaving 
the  face  that  had  changed  so  subtly  at  recognition 
of  him.  Only  once  before  had  he  seen  such  a  look, 
and  that  had  been  frozen  into  marble  by  the  genius 
of  an  unknown  sculptor :  a  group  in  a  Paris  exhibi- 
tion of  a  nymph  who,  being  clasped  as  she  thinks 
by  a  satyr,  turns  to  find  it  a  god. 

Never  would  Jeremy  Vyse  forget  that  living  look, 
with  all  that  it  held  of  trust  and  confidence.  It 
was  his  accolade  of  knighthood,  but  he  felt  as  if  he 
should  have  received  it  at  her  feet,  kneeling. 

"So  you  are  the  Blands'  cousin,  "  he  said  at  last. 
"And  I  never  knew.  " 

"Your  prophetic  bones  failed  you  for  once," 


164  The  Beloved  Sinner 

cried  Desiree,  rather  shakily.  The  sense  of  relief 
was  almost  too  much.  Everything  seemed  to  have 
taken  on  a  strange  unreality.  She  tried  to  recover 
her  poise.  "Now  I,  with  no  pretensions  to  being 
a  sibyl,  had  a  vague  idea  at  the  back  of  my  mind 
that  Jeremy  Vyse  was  you.  It  is,  isn't  it?"  she 
ended,  trembling  a  little,  half  with  excitement, 
half  with  reaction. 

* '  Yes, ' '  he  answered  in  his  ordinary  tone.  ' '  But 
you'll  catch  your  death  of  cold  There  is  a  heavy 
dew.     Haven't  you  got  a  wrap?" 

"Fairies  never  catch  cold,"  she  answered,  smil- 
ing up  at  him.  Wood  or  no  wood  she  knew  that 
she  was  safe  with  him.  "I  left  my  lily-leaf  hang- 
ing on  a  moonbeam.     Let's  go  and  look  for  it.  " 

' '  I  hope  your  mad  companions  haven't  spirited  it 
away.  Where  are  they,  by  the  way,  and  how  did 
you  come  here?" 

"We  came  in  Judy's  car,"  answered  Desiree, 
coming  back  to  normality  with  a  jerk.  For  the 
moment  she  had  forgotten  the  very  existence  of 
any  one  in  the  world  but  their  two  selves.  "We 
left  it  in  a  lane  outside  a  wicket-gate  somewhere  in 
the  park  wall.  Judy  knew  her  way  quite  well,  but 
I'm  afraid  I  lost  mine  when  I  was  running  away 
from  you." 

"Foolish,  foolish  little  thing,"  he  said  in  a  low 
tone  which  made  her  heartbeats  quicken.  "As  if 
you  could!" 

A  quick  surge  of  emotion  left  her  speechless. 
What  spell  was  laid  upon  her  in  this  moon-en- 


Moon  Magic  165 

chanted  world  that  she,  the  ready-tongued, 
should  be  mute  as  a  shy  child?  And  yet,  what 
had  he  said?  His  words  could  bear  the  most  or- 
dinary interpretation.  What  moon-madness  was 
she  trying  to  read  into  them? 

"Give  me  your  hand,"  commanded  Jeremy 
Vyse  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way.  "You're 
cold  and  tired.  I'll  take  you  a  short  cut  across 
the  park  that  will  bring  us  to  the  wicket  in  a 
few  minutes. " 

She  slipped  her  cold  little  hand  into  his  with 
the  simple  confidence  of  a  child,  thrilling  him  to 
an  ecstatic  wonder  he  had  never  felt  before.  How 
exquisite  she  was  in  her  absolute  trust — his  star, 
his  moon,  his  white  flower  of  girls!  Oh,  that  he 
might  be  worthy,  that  he  might  never  fail  her! 
Serene  in  the  royal  assurance  of  his  love  he  strode 
his  world  a  king.  No  room  for  doubts  or  tremors 
in  this  night  of  iridescent  dreams.  Uncertainty 
was  for  the  solitary  hours,  the  pale  doubting  hours 
before  dawn,  not  for  this  shining  silver  world 
through  which  two  walked  hand  in  hand  in  a  si- 
lence that  needed  no  interpretation  of  speech. 

They  crossed  the  park,  coming  to  where  a  little 
stream  bubbled  between  grassy  banks  fringed  with 
tall  spears  of  purple  loose-strife  and  powdery  tufts 
of  meadow-sweet — ghost -flowers  in  the  moonlight. 

"Look, "  he  whispered,  with  a  quick  pressure  of 
the  little  hand  he  held,  now  warm  as  his  own. 
There  was  nothing  disturbing  in  his  clasp ;  nothing 
but  a  great  possessive  tenderness  which  brought  to 


i66  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Desiree  a  sense  of  well-being  and  comfort.  She 
had  always  been  fastidious  about  being  touched;. 
had  held  even  her  hands  sacred.  No  one  had 
ventured  to  encroach  until  Leander  Wing,  hotly 
daring,  had  broken  bonds,  and  crushed  their 
butterfly  friendship. 

But  this  man's  touch  was  unlike  any  other.  It 
soothed,  it  stirred,  it  stilled,  it  stimulated,  all  at 
once.  It  was,  as  he  was,  different,  with  that  magic 
difference  which  is  only  achieved  through  Love's 
philosopher's  stone,  which  he  lends  for  a  while  to 
all  lovers.  Some  keep  it  but  for  a  day  and  fret 
to  find  their  gold  dross,  while  others  cherish  it  to 
the  end  of  time,  and  who  knows?  perhaps  beyond. 
Where  one  treasures  it  and  one  throws  it  away, 
there  steps  in  Tragedy.  .  .  . 

Desiree  looked  as  he  directed.  A  little  higher 
up  the  stream  had  widened  to  a  pool.  Here  some 
hinds,  quiet  dappled  creatures,  stooped  to  drink. 
On  a  knoll  behind  them  a  stag,  wide-an tiered,  kept 
guard,  silhouetted  against  the  blue  depth  of  the 
sky.  The  very  spirit  of  romance  breathed  through 
the  night,  exhaling  its  essence  about  them  as  they 
stood  silent  till  the  hinds,  lifting  suspicious  heads, 
saw  them,  and  trotted  off  into  the  shadows,  fol- 
lowed more  slowly  by  the  stag. 

They  went  on  through  the  scented  stillness,  in 
the  same  happy  silence,  until  they  came  to  the 
wicket  in  the  wall.  Desiree  sighed  as  Jeremy 
opened  it.  Through  its  creaking  portal  they 
stepped  out  into  a  world  of  reality,  to  find  an 


Moon  Magic  167 

empty  lane.  The  double  curve  of  swerving  tyres 
lay  pressed  upon  the  dust,  but  car  there  was  none. 
From  the  distance  came  a  faint  receding  sound. 

"They've  gone!"  she  cried  flatly.  "The  car 
was  here.     They  haven't  waited.  " 

"It's  a  trick  of  that  lunatic  Judy's,"  Jeremy 
reassured  her.  "They're  probably  round  the 
comer.  They  couldn't  have  gone  back  to  Frayne 
without  you.     I'll  run  and  see. " 

"Princess  Pafnuty  is  capable  of  anything," 
thought  Desiree,  watching  him  as  he  went.  "  She 
thinks  of  nothing  or  no  one  but  herself." 

He  was  back  in  a  moment. 

"Not  a  sign  of  them,"  he  said  angrily.  "It's 
monstrous,  outrageous !  I  found  this  by  the  road- 
side as  if  it  had  been  hastily  flung  out.  Is  it 
yours?"     He  held  out  a  white  blanket  coat. 

"Yes.  That  shows  they've  gone.  Judy  must 
have  left  it  for  me. " 

"Put  it  on."  He  muffled  the  little  nymph-like 
figure  unskilfully  in  its  folds. 

"Please  take  out  my  hair,"  Desiree  begged. 
"I  hate  to  feel  it  tickling  against  my  neck, " 

With  awkward  fingers,  that  trembled  in  spite 
of  his  efforts  at  self-control,  Jeremy  gently  drew 
out  the  shining  scented  masses  until  they  hung, 
a  pale  gold  fleece,  about  her  once  more.  She  gave 
a  little  shiver  of  delight  at  the  pleasant  contact  of 
the  silk-lined  coat. 

"You're  cold,"  he  said  in  a  voice  hoarse  with 
anger  and  suppressed  feeling.     "What  was  Judy 


i68  The  Beloved  Sinner 

thinking  of  to  leave  you  like  this  ?  Did  she  expect 
you  to  walk  back  to  Frayne  in  your  little  bare 
feet,  alone?" 

"I  don't  suppose  she  thought  about  it,  but  I  can 
easily  do  it.  It's  only  three  miles,  and  remember, 
I'm  country-bred.  Besides,  I've  got  sandals 
on. 

"Sandals?"  he  echoed,  checking  a  rising  torrent 
of  speech.  "I'll  take  you  back  if  I  may.  Wait 
here.  I  shan't  be  long.  You  won't  be  fright- 
-ened,  will  you?" 

"No,  not  unless  you're  very  long,"  she  an- 
swered softly. 

"I  shan't  waste  a  moment,"  he  assured  her. 
**This  lane  leads  direct  to  the  yard. "  i 

He  set  off  at  a  run  which  bore  him  swiftly  out 
of  sight.  Desiree  drew  back  into  the  shadow  of 
the  wicket,  determined  not  to  give  way  to  fear, 
whatever  happened. 

It  was  still,  save  for  the  multitudinous  noises  of 
the  night.  Now  and  then  a  rustling  in  the  under- 
growth of  the  park  made  her  heart  beat  and 
flutter.  Once  a  white  owl  swooped  out  of  the  wood 
behind  her  and  down  into  the  lane,  with  a  low  hoot 
and  a  silent  sweep  of  ghostly  wings :  a  cream  night- 
moth  blundered  against  her  face:  a  night- jar 
churred  in  the  distance:  now  and  then  she  saw  a 
-dance  of  bats  against  the  silver  disc  of  the  moon. 
A  cock-pheasant,  frightened  by  some  noise  indis- 
cernible to  her,  rose  from  the  bracken  with  a  cry 
and  loud  beating  of  wings  that  startled  her  almost 


Moon  Magic  169 

to  a  scream.  She  bit  her  lip.  She  had  promised 
Jeremy  not  to  be  frightened,  but  she  wished  with 
all  her  heart  that  he  would  come.  .  .  .  How  the 
minutes  thinned  and  lengthened !  Surely  they  had 
already  spun  themselves  to  an  hour!  .  .  .  Would 
he  never  come?  .  .  . 

Suddenly  she  was  aware  of  a  new  sound,  a  sound 
that  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  wood  or  the  night. 
At  first  she  thought  that  it  must  be  her  own  heart, 
beating  its  drums  of  fear  in  her  ears.  Then, 
with  a  swift  blush,  she  realized  that  it  was  other 
drums,  drums  of  conquest:  "an  army  with  ban- 
ners": the  beating  of  hoofs  upon  an  open  road. 
Someone  was  galloping  through  the  night  to  her 
...  to  her.  .  .  . 

She  hid  her  burning  face  in  her  hands.  The 
galloping  hoofs  drew  nearer,  nearer,  were  upon  her, 
stopped.  She  lifted  her  head.  Jeremy  Vyse 
reined  up  his  horse  and  held  out  his  hands,  with  a 
swift  inarticulate  cry.  She  stepped  out  of  the 
shadows  towards  him.     He  bent  down. 

"Put  your  foot  on  mine  and  give  me  your 
hands,  "  he  cried  in  a  voice  that  thrilled  her. 

She  obeyed.  With  a  swift  ease  he  swung  her  up 
in  front  of  him.  In  a  moment  she  lay  cradled 
against  him,  with  an  exquisite  sense  of  safety,  held 
lightly  in  arms  that  gave  protection  and  demanded 
nothing.  She  had  no  faintest  vision  of  what  such 
self-control  cost  the  man  who  held  her. 

"Are  you  comfortable?"  he  asked  a  Httle 
huskily. 


170  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Comfortable?"  she  echoed,  with  a  low  con- 
tented laugh,  "What  a  tame  word!  I  feel  as  if , 
for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  were  living  in  a 
fairy-tale!  I  shall  wake  presently,  and  pinch 
myself  if  it  isn't  true. " 

"Pinch  me  instead,"  he  said,  with  a  desperate 
attempt  at  lightness.  "It  shan't  be  my  fault  if 
this  fairy-tale  doesn't  come  true. " 

After  a  little  he  went  on  quietly: 

"You're  tired.  Lean  against  me  as  if  I  were 
only  your — chair.     You're  quite  safe. " 

"Of  course,"  she  cried,  in  a  tone  so  warmly 
indignant,  so  tinged  with  varied  emotions  that  it 
sent  fire  anew  through  his  veins.  "I  should  feel 
safe  with  you  anywhere.  .  .  .  Isn't  it  hard  to 
believe  that  this  is  only  the  second  time  we've 
met?" 

"Some  meetings  aren't  to  be  measured  by 
moments,"  he  returned  in  the  same  curbed  tones. 
"I  feel  as  if  we'd  known  each  other  since  the 
beginning  of  time,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  breathed,  so  low  that  he  scarcely 
heard  more  than  a  sigh  of  affirmation,  but  it  was 
enough. 

The  great  bay  horse,  Saladin,  did  not  seem  to 
feel  his  double  burden.  Perhaps  he  knew  that  he 
was  carrying  two  people  through  that  wonderland 
of  romance  which  is  to  be  found  here  and  there  in 
the  highways  as  well  as  the  byways  of  this  prosaic 
old  world.  Certain  it  was  that  no  three  miles 
were  ever  covered  in  a  shorter  space  of  time  by 


Moon  Magic  171 

steed,  magic,  or  mortal,  than  those  between 
Beaumont  and  Frayne. 

Who  heeds  the  way  when  it  is  spread  with  tis- 
sue of  moonbeams,  canopied  with  the  star-strewn 
heavens,  scented  Hke  the  hanging-gardens  of 
Babylon  and  leads  to  the  great  quest  of  Paradise? 

Words  which  she  had  once  sung  with  light- 
hearted  lack  of  understanding  floated  back  through 
the  magic  night  to  Desiree.  ...        , 

There's  a  high  rose-hedge  round  Paradise 

With  blossoms  thickly  sown. 
But  never  a  one  may  find  the  way 

If  he  look  for  it  alone. 

Suddenly  she  became  aware  of  the  muffled  beat- 
ing of  his  heart  beneath  her  cheek.  It  leaped 
like  a  wild  thing  struggling  to  get  out  of  a  cage. 
She  listened  to  it  until  her  own  began  to  throb  in 
response,  echoing  its  indefinable  insistence.  Here 
was  no  thing  on  a  leash,  ready  to  be  let  slip  at  a 
moment's  carelessness.  She  was  aware  of  strength 
strongly  curbed,  but  still  strength  unassailable. 
In  her  inmost  being  she  knew  that  it  would  never 
be  loosed  upon  her  unless  she  herself  turned  the 
key  in  the  lock. 

On  the  heels  of  that  intuition  came  another, 
swift,  irresistible:  the  knowledge  that  for  good  or 
ill  her  feet  were  set  near  his  on  the  highroad  to 
that  Paradise  which  neither  could  find  if  they  trod 
the  way  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIII 


THE    SEEDING  MOMENT 


Desir^e  ran  up  the  little  flight  of  steps  which  led 
to  the  garden-door  in  the  hall,  to  confront  Judith 
at  the  top.     Her  cousin  started  at  sight  of  her. 

"How  did  you  get  here? "  she  cried,  in  a  tone  of 
relief.     "I  was  just  going  back  to  look  for  you.  " 

"Much  obliged  for  your  consideration,"  an- 
swered Desiree  drily.  There  was  no  place  for  real 
anger  in  her  heart  tonight,  but  she  felt  a  little 
ruffled  at  Judith's  careless  desertion  of  her.  "I 
think  you  might  have  waited  five  minutes.  " 

"We  did,"  Judith  answered.  "Then  LiH  Paf- 
nuty  got  into  a  panic  and  said  we  would  wait  no 
more.  She  ordered  Lisaveta  to  drive  on.  You 
know  what  an  insistent  little  devil  she  is.  She 
overrode  me  completely.  Then  nothing  would  do 
her  but  that  we  should  go  for  a  rush,  as  she  calls  it, 
through  the  moonlight.  .  .  .  'The  roads  were 
free  and  so  were  we!'  .  .  .  Mon  dieu!  .  .  . 
We've  only  just  got  back!  I  came  in  to  get  a 
warmer  coat  and  was  going  to  look  for  you.  I  see 
you  found  yours.  I  threw  it  out  as  I  was  being 
whirled  off. " 

173 


The  Seeding  Moment  i7S 

"Yes.     I  got  my  coat,  thanks." 

"Look  here,  Dede,  there's  no  earthly  use  in  your 
being  ratty.     It  wasn't  my  fault.  " 

"After  all,  the  car  was  yours,  Judy,  I  do  think 
you  might  have  waited  a  little  longer. " 

"What  is  'mine  and  thine'  to  Lili  Pafnuty?" 
She  says  the  world's  her  oyster,  which  is  more  than 
half-way  to  making  it  so.  .  .  .  At  any  rate, 
you're  safely  back,  so  we  can  go  to  bed.  I'm  dead 
tired.     Did  you  walk  back,  or  what  happened?" 

"The  unexpected,"  answered  Desiree,  with 
intent  to  provoke. 

"I  believe  the  Vyses  sent  you  back,  but  I  don't 
see  why  you're  making  such  a  mystery  of  it, "  said 
Judith,  yawning. 

"Why  do  people  always  say  they  believe  things 
of  which  they're  most  uncertain? " 

"Oh,  very  well,  you  irritating  little  thing!" 

"It  is  I  who  should  be  cross,  not  you,  Judy,  and 
yet  I  have  come  back  with  the  temper  of  an  angel, " 
smiled  Desiree,  slipping  into  her  own  room  and 
quietly  turning  the  key  in  the  lock. 

She  had  no  mind  for  a  possible  intrusion  of 
Judith  on  her  dreams.  She  wanted  to  be  alone 
with  them  for  the  rest  of  the  scented  hours  of 
this  wonderful  night .  She  would  never  tell  any  one 
what  had  happened.  It  was  too  precious,  too 
wonderful  to  be  shared  with  any  other.   .    .    . 

Next  morning  Jeremy  Vyse  rode  over  to  Frayne 
with  an  acceptance  for  the  dinner  and  an  invitation 
to  tea. 


174  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Not  that  I  have  any  burning  desire  to  see 
them,"  Mrs.  Vyse  told  her  son,  "but  I  like 
Monica  Bland,  and  if  she  has  a  troublesome  house- 
party  it  will  be  a  way  of  filling  up  one  afternoon. " 

"There  are  only  Princess  Pafnuty  and  Miss 
Hasard,  Lady  Monica's  niece,"  Jeremy  returned. 

"I  suppose  it  was  they  who  gave  us  that — ex- 
hibition on  the  lawn  last  night.  " 

"I  shouldn't  mention  it  to  Lady  Monica  if  I 
were  you,"  advised  Jeremy.  "It  was  probably 
one  of  Judy's  pranks,  of  which  she  knows  nothing.  " 

"I'm  no  mischief-maker, "  answered  Mrs.  Vyse, 
an  iron-grey  woman  with  clear  shrewd  eyes,  a  close 
mouth,  a  square  jaw,  and  a  tufted  mole  on  her 
tipper  lip  which  Judith's  imagination  had  dis- 
torted into  a  moustache.  She  gave  the  impression 
of  being  a  person  of  rigid  honesty  and  uncompro- 
mising ideals :  and  her  love  for  her  son  was  Spartan 
in  its  self-denials. 

It  was  with  leaping  pulses  that  Jeremy  drew  rein 
in  the  courtyard  at  Frayne.  The  moments  seemed 
leaden  until  he  saw  Desiree  again  and  persuaded 
himself  with  the  sight  of  her  that  last  night's 
events  were  real,  and  not  some  unbelievable  mirage 
of  a  white  night. 

Lady  Monica  was  crossing  the  hall  as  he  dis- 
mounted, and  came  out  to  the  door  to  speak  to 
him.  She  liked  Jeremy  Vyse  and  would  have 
gladly  seen  one  of  her  daughters  mistress  of  Beau- 
mont. 

"I  can't  answer  for  any  of  my  party  except 


The  Seeding  Moment  175 

myself, "  she  said,  when  she  read  Mrs.  Vyse's  note. 
"Tell  your  mother  that  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
come.  I'll  bring  my  niece,  Destree  Hasard,  if  I 
can  rescue  her  from  Princess  Pafnuty,  whom  John 
calls  a  whirlwind  in  petticoats.  She's  always 
rushing  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  Judy  says 
she's  running  after  her  lost  youth,  without  the 
slightest  chance  of  finding  it!" 

"Are  they — Judy — any  of  them — "  faltered 
Jeremy  with  unusual  awkwardness.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  frame  the  question  that  burned  on 
his  lips. 

"Judy  and  Princess  Pafnuty  have  not  appeared 
yet.  It  seems  they  went  off  for  a  moonlight  ride 
last  night  in  Judy's  car  and  weren't  back  until  all 
hours.  Desiree  has  gone  for  a  ride  with  her  uncle. 
I  wonder  you  didn't  meet  them. " 

"Which  way  did  they  go?"  he  asked  eagerly? 
"I  rather  wanted  to  see  Mr.  Bland  about  a — a — a 
case  of  poaching, "  he  ended  lamely. 

' '  They  were  going  first  to  the  Home  Farm.  You 
ought  easily  to  catch  them  up.  " 

With  a  hasty  farewell  he  was  off.  .  .  .  The 
fortune  that  favours  lovers  smiled  upon  him.  He 
found  Desiree  waiting  for  her  uncle  outside  the 
farm  gate.  She  looked  up  at  the  sound  of  Saladin's 
hoofs,  and  blushed  deliciously  when  she  saw  him. 

He  approached  her  bareheaded,  with  shining 
eyes.  She  was  there.  She  was  real ;  less  ethereal, 
but  even  lovelier  in  the  golden  Hght  of  morning. 
It  was  no  mirage. 


176  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"You  are  all  right.  I  needn't  ask.  You  look 
like — like  the  very  rose  of  dawn, "  he  stammered 
as  he  drew  close  to  her. 

"And  you?"  she  said,  words  deserting  her. 
When  had  she  ever  felt  tongue-tied  before  ?  It  was 
too  stupid.  "What  would  he  think  of  her?  Yet 
she  was  shy  of  meeting  the  eyes  that  told  all  too 
plainly  what  he  thought  of  her. 

"I?"  he  echoed,  leaning  forward  to  pat  her 
cob's  neck,  and  laying  his  hand  on  her  small 
white-gloved  one.  ' '  I  saddled  my  hunter,  Ruf uS' 
and  rode  until  the  stars  reeled  out  of  the  sky. " 

"Where  did  you  go?" 

"I  don't  know.  .  .  .  My  thoughts  were  with 
my  heart. " 

"And  where  was  that  ? "  she  queried  softly,  half- 
frightened  at  her  own  audacity. 

"You  ought  to  know,"  he  answered  below  his 
breath,  as  the  Squire  clattered  suddenly  out  of  the 
yard  behind  them. 

"Hullo,  Jeremy,  you  two  been  introducing 
yourselves?  That's  right!  That's  right.  How's 
your  mother?  Too  bad,"  he  went  on  without 
waiting  for  an  answer,  "  Ive  got  to  go  down  to  the 
village  to  see  that  confounded  Johnson.  You'd 
better  go  back,  D6de.  Sorry  to  cut  your  ride 
short,  but " 

"Will  you  trust  yourself  to  me?"  Jeremy  broke 
in  eagerly.  "There  are  stretches  of  turf  as  fine  as 
a  race  course  in  Beaumont  Park.  Would  you  care 
for  a  gallop  there?    That  is,  if  the  tub  you're  on 


The  Seeding  Moment  177 

can  gallop!"  He  cast  a  disdainful  glance  at  her 
fat  cob,  all  unworthy  of  such  a  rider. 

Desiree  laughed.  "We  can  but  try,"  she  an- 
swered.    ' '  I  should  like  a  gallop  above  all  things. ' ' 

"You  are  coming  to  see  my  mother  this  after- 
noon, "  Jeremy  said,  when  they  found  themselves 
alone. 

Desir6e  opened  her  blue  eyes  wide.  She  had 
almost  recovered  her  poise.  She  felt  tongue-tied 
no  more.  Something  of  last  night's  sensation  of 
ease  and  well-being  returned  to  her  as  she  can- 
tered by  his  side, 

"Am  I  ?     That's  the  first  I  heard  of  it.  " 

"Lady  Monica  said  she'd  bring  you.  You  will 
come,  won't  you?"  Entreaty  rang  in  his  tones, 
' '  I  want  my  mother  to  see  you.  I  hope  you'll  like 
her, " 

"Will  she  like  me?    That's  more  to  the  point, " 

"I  hope  Judy  hasn't  been  prejudicing  you 
against  her,"  he  said  quickly.  "Those  two  are 
absolutely  antagonistic.  Let  me  tell  you  about 
my  mother.     She  is  a  very  splendid  woman. " 

"So  Aunt  Monica  said. " 

"Ah,  then  they  were  discussing  her.  Judy's 
tongue  tears  everyone  to  tatters, "  he  said  with 
some  heat.  Then  his  voice  grew  gentle  again  as 
he  turned  to  her.  "I  daresay  she  told  you  how 
proud  we  are  of  our  old  house  and  our  unbroken 
line;  laughed  at  it  probably,  but  that  doesn't 
matter.  Did  she  tell  you  how  a  woman  nearly 
lost  it  to  us?     A  woman  who  squandered  money 


178  The  Beloved  Sinner 

that  wasn't  hers,  and  gambled  to  buy  rubbish  she 
could  never  pay  for. "  His  mouth  and  eyes  hard- 
ened :  the  line  of  his  jaw  looked  square  and  ugly. 

Desiree  shrank  within  herself  as  she  glanced  at 
him.  She  had  not  thought  that  that  pleasant 
understanding  face  could  look  so  stem,  so  bitter. 
An  unexpected  pity  for  the  censured  woman  welled 
within  her,  rushing  into  words, 

"Oh,  don't  be  so  hard!"  she  cried.  "Per- 
haps she  was  only  foolish — perhaps  she  didn't 
mean " 

"The  paltriest  of  excuses.  I  suppose  no  woman 
deliberately  means  to  steal  when  she  orders  things 
she  can't  pay  for,  or  even  calls  it  stealing  to  fling 
away  money  belonging  to  other  people,  but  it's 
theft  all  the  same.  Dishonesty  is  the  meanest, 
most  sordid  of  vices.  For  me  those  whom  I  can't 
trust  cease  to  exist.  They  are  snuffed  out  of  my 
life  like  a  candleflame.  .  .  .  But  why  should  I 
worry  your  tender  heart  ? "  he  cried,  softening  again 
at  sight  of  her  paling  averted  cheek.  "How 
should  such  as  you  understand  such  as  she? " 

"It  was  only — only,  "  faltered  Desiree,  meeting 
his  eyes  with  a  curious  appeal  in  her  darkening 
blue  eyes. 

"Only  what?"  he  asked  gently. 

"Only  that  it  was  rather  a  shock  to  find  you  so 
hard,  so  unforgiving,  "  she  answered  with  an  effort. 

' '  Perhaps  I  am  unforgiving,  but  distrust  of  that 
type  of  woman  has  been  burnt  into  my  blood.  " 

He  was  sileint  for  a  moment.     Their  horses 


The  Seeding  Moment  179 

walked  side  by  side,  Saladin  towering  above  her 
little  cob.  Suddenly  he  held  out  his  hand.  She 
looked  up  at  him  questioningly  as  she  put  hers 
into  it  without  hesitation. 

"Although  we  have  known  each  other  since  the 
morning  of  time  we  are  only  beginning  to  learn 
each  other  in  this  life,"  he  said  very  gravely. 
' '  Are  you  content  that  it  should  be  so  ? " 

Her  heart  gave  a  great  leap.  The  whole  mean- 
ing of  life  lay  behind  those  simple  words.  She  was 
suddenly  aware  that  for  him  as  well  as  for  her  this 
was  their  moment:  the  seeding  moment  of  their 
lives  that  would  blossom  later  into  fuller  and  more 
glorious  fruition,  or  wither  into  the  dust  of  the 
' '  might  have  been . " 

She  flushed  under  his  steady  gaze,  but  her 
eyes  never  left  his  as  she  murmured:  "Quite 
content." 

Slowly  his  rugged  brown  face  changed:  grew 
irradiated.  His  eyes  shone.  A  great  light  trans- 
formed him  more  fully  to  that  difference  from  all 
other  men  which  she  had  only  sensed  before.  He 
opened  his  lips  as  if  to  speak,  but  closed  them  again. 

She  was  content  to  wait,  to  rest,  as  he  did,  in  the 
golden  glamour  of  a  golden  moment.  Words 
would  only  mar  the  slowly  ripening  ecstasy  that 
transformed  their  world.  Here  was  no  conven- 
tional falling  in  love,  no  violent  gust  of  emotion, 
but  a  swift  irresistible  drawing  together,  lovely 
and  inevitable  as  the  appointed  blossoming  of  a 
flower.     No  doubts  or  tremors  cast  their  forked 


i8o  The  Beloved  Sinner 

shadows  across  its  radiance.  Each  knew,  without 
the  pretty  preliminaries,  the  fencings,  the  flutter- 
ings  of  a  lesser  passion,  that  Love  the  almighty — 
"terrible  as  an  army  with  banners \' — had  over- 
whelmed them  both.    .    .    . 

They  turned  in  at  the  park  gates  and  rode  under 
the  arching  trees.  The  mystery  of  "night and 
light  and  the  half-light"  had  given  place  to  the 
compelling  glory  of  day.  The  deer  crouched  be- 
neath a  splendour  of  chestnut  trees,  or  wandered 
in  shy  dappled  grace  across  the  sunny  lawns, 
cropping  as  they  went  the  vivid  grass,  now  swept 
of  its  dewdrop  webs  of  brightness. 

"Let's  see  if  your  roly-poly  can  gallop,"  said 
Jeremy.  "Tomorrow  I'll  bring  over  a  mount  fit 
for  you  to  ride,  my  little  Arab  mare,  Zuleika. 
She  has  a  coat  of  white  satin.  .  .  .  No,  don't 
spoil  it  with  thanks.  It's  only  part  of  the  fairy- 
tale. Fairy  princesses  always  ride  snow-white 
steeds.  ...  I  pictured  you  on  her  the  first 
time  I  saw  you." 

"You  are  a  dear!''  cried  Desiree  impulsively, 
touching  the  cob's  fat  flank  with  her  whip. 

His  smile  thanked  her :  that  good  smile  in  which 
eyes  as  well  as  lips  took  part.  Gone  were  the  hard 
stem  lines  about  mouth  and  chin.  Had  she 
imagined  them,  she  wondered.  Was  he  really  so 
implacable  as  he  had  sounded?  Ah,  not  to  her! 
Never  to  her,  ^he  told  herself  happily.  Her  heart 
sang. 

They  were  laughing  and  breathless  when  they 


The  Seeding  Moment  i8i 

drew  rein,  and  let  their  horses  walk  over  the 
springy  turf. 

"I've  spoken  to  you  of  a  bad  woman,"  said 
Jeremy  after  a  moment.  "Let  me  tell  you  of  a 
good  one  now." 

Slowly,  and  at  first  shyly,  he  opened  his  heart 
and  spoke  as  a  man  speaks  only  to  the  one  woman, 
of  the  things  that  lay  nearest  to  it :  of  his  childhood, 
his  manhood,  and  his  ideals,  of  his  mother  (whose 
place  in  the  heart  of  a  man  no  other  woman  ever 
really  fills)  and  of  all  the  sacrifices  which  she  had 
made  for  him. 

"Only  for  her  Beaumont  would  have  been  lost 
to  the  Vyses  for  ever, "  he  went  on.  "I  wonder  if 
you  can  realize  what  the  place  means  to  us,  how 
it  seems  an  actual  part  of  ourselves.  An  unbroken 
line  of  Vyses  has  lived  there  since  the  Norman 
Conquest;  a  flame  of  life  that  has  never  been 
quenched  has  been  passed  on  from  one  generation 
to  another  in  that  old  house,  whose  smallest  stone 
is  dear  to  us.  Only  the  Keep  remains  of  the  orig- 
inal Beaumont,  but  none  of  it  is  new,  and  it  all 
has  the  sanctity  of  age  and  tradition.  My 
mother  felt  it  as  strongly  as  I  do.  She  was  deter- 
mined to  keep  it  for  me.  I  can  never  repay  her 
for  her  sacrifices,  at  half  of  which  I  only  dimly 
guess ;  but  I  remember  well  how  hard  she  worked 
at  our  little  farm  and  vineyard  at  Le  Tronc, 
near  Bordeaux. " 

"What  made  her  think  of  such  an  unusual 
venture?"  Desiree  asked,  keenly  interested. 


182  The  Beloved  Sinner 

' '  She  fell  in  love  with  the  place  on  her  honey- 
moon, and  when  the  crash  came  she  thought  she 
would  go  there  and  live  cheaply.  Then  she 
started  a  poultry-yard,  and  later  rented  the  vine- 
yard. I  always  spent  my  summer  holidays  at  Le 
Tronc,  and  the  others  at  Beaumont  Lodge  with 
my  cousin  Henry  Vyse.  Mother  came  too.  She 
wanted  me  to  have  as  English  an  upbringing  as 
possible,  as  she  wanted  to  fit  me  for  being  master 
of  Beaumont  when  the  time  came. " 

' '  Did  you  never  think  of  taking  up  a  profession  ? ' ' 

"I  rather  wanted  to  be  a  doctor,  but  mother 
wouldn't  hear  of  it.  When  I  went  down  from 
Oxford  I  went  to  live  with  her  at  Le  Tronc  and 
managed  the  vineyard.  She  said  I  would  learn 
about  land  and  how  to  handle  men  on  a  small  scale 
later  on.  ...  It  was  jolly,  too.  After  all,  I'm 
of  the  earth,  earthy.  .  .  .  You  were  glad  to  come 
back  to  the  good  brown  earth,  weren't  you?"  he 
ended  suddenly.  "Mother  Earth,  that  is  the 
kindliest  of  all  the  elements.  " 

"Very  glad, "  she  smiled  at  him. 

"And  the  little  glittering  things ?" 

"Were  just  little  glittering  things,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"I  knew  it  all  the  time,"  he  said  happily. 
' '  Now  tell  me  things  about  yourself.  Real  things, 
not  the  nonsense  you  talked  in  the  train.  " 

"If  you  don't  like  nonsense  you'll  never  like 
me,"  Desiree  laughed.  Then  before  he  could 
answer  she  plunged  into  an  account  of  her  home, 


The  Seeding  Moment  183 

her  friends,  her  father  and  his  obsession  for  the 
beautiful  old  church,  Lord  Garry  and  his  pleasant 
humours. 

"And  your  mother?"  he  asked  softly. 

"  Mother  is — just  mother,  "  she  answered  with  a 
little  sigh.  "I  can't  describe  her.  She's  tall  and 
has  fluffy  grey  hair  and  blue  eyes  and  the  sus- 
picion of  a  brogue — but  none  of  that  gives  you  the 
least  idea  of  her  reaUy.  She's  just — a  darling. 
Quite  indescribable. " 

"It's  a  way  mothers  have,  "  he  returned  smiling. 

"I  wanted  her  to  see  you — that  day  in  the 
train,"  said  Desiree  softly. 

"You  did?  Really?"  he  cried  eagerly.  "Oh, 
you 

But  she  had  whipped  up  the  cob  and  was  well 
away  before  his  sentence  was  completed. 

Desiree's  pulses  fluttered  as  she  followed  Lady 
Monica  into  the  drawing-room  at  Beaumont. 

Princess  Pafnuty  had  a  "migraine"  which 
left  her  for  the  moment  only  capable  of  bridge. 
Judith  had  gone  in  her  car  to  kidnap,  with  or 
without  violence,  two  other  players.  Otherwise 
it  would  mean  Lisaveta  and  "cut-throat" — 
a  prospect  which  Judith  did  not  relish.  Desiree 
was  glad  that  they  were  safely  disposed  of. 
Aunt  Monica  would  talk  to  Mrs.  Vyse.  It 
would  seem  only  natural  that  Jeremy  should 
entertain  her.  She  did  not  want  roving,  curious 
eyes  to  peer  into  her  precious  secret,  or  careless 


i84  The  Beloved  Sinner 

irreverent  fingers  to  poke  at  and  tarnish  her 
golden  joy.   .    .    . 

Mrs.  Vyse  searched  the  delicate  flushing  face 
as  she  held  Desiree's  hand  for  a  moment,  while 
Lady  Monica  poured  forth  excuses  for  the  others. 

"Aren't  you  a  bridge-player,  then,  Miss  Has- 
ard?"  she  asked.  Her  voice  was  curiously  pleas- 
ant. 

Desiree  shook  her  head.  ' '  I  never  play.  Cards 
make  me  sleepy,  "  she  said  frankly. 

The  simplicity  of  the  avowal  provoked  a  smile, 
which  still  further  softened  Mrs.  Vyse's  ruggedness. 

"That's  not  a  usual  confession  nowadays, "  she 
said.  * '  Have  you  none  of  the  modem  crazes,  Miss 
Hasard?  .    .    .     Barefoot  dancing,  for  instance  ? " 

Jeremy,  in  the  background,  gasped  at  the  un- 
wonted raillery  in  his  mother's  tone,  and  waited 
breathless  for  Desiree's  answer. 

Looking  at  Mrs.  Vyse  she  saw  her  lover's  eyes 
in  the  mother's  face  and  her  own  twinkled  in 
response.  In  that  moment  an  odd  understanding 
sprang  to  life  between  the  two, 

' '  Only  once  in  my  life  have  I  ever  done  any  bare- 
foot dancing,"  she  asserted,  smiling.  "And  I'm 
not  very  likely  to  do  it  again. " 

"Oh,  there's  no  harm  in  it  that  I  can  see,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Vyse.  "Jeremy,  will  you  take  Miss 
Hasard  round  the  garden  ?  Bring  her  back  to  tea 
in  half  an  hour.  " 

"You've  made  a  conquest  of  my  mother,"  he 
said  delightedly,  as  they  went  out  on  to  the  terrace 


The  Seeding  Moment  185 

together.  "I've  never  seen  her  so  charmed  with 
a  girl  before. " 

"You  really  think  she  liked  me?  I  hope  so. 
But  I  generally  get  on  well  with  elderly  people.  I 
am  so  used  to  them.  You  see,  my  father  and 
mother,  and  Cousin  Ludlow " 

"The  fact  is  we're  quite  unmodem, "  he  broke 
in  happily. 

"Prove  it!" 

"We've  been  praising  our  mothers  when  it's  the 
fashion  to  despise  them.  .  .  .  Come!  I  want 
to  show  you  to  Beaumont."  His  voice  shook  a 
little. 

She  turned  with  him,  a  vision  of  youth  and 
radiance,  to  face  the  ancient  stone  house,  warm  in 
the  July  sunshine,  breathing  a  living  essence  of 
dead  hospitalities,  opposing  the  mellow  assurance 
of  its  lichened  age  to  the  fleeting  impermanence  of 
their  youth,  proud  in  its  dignity  and  the  unstained 
honour  of  its  traditions. 

"There!"  he  said.  "Isn't  that  a  home  worth 
waiting  for?" 

"Yes,  "  she  breathed,  her  heart  going  out  to  the 
old,  old  house  as  it  had  never  gone  out  to  Frayne. 

"Could  you  love  it  as  I  do? " 

"I  think  I  love  it  already, "  she  answered  very 
softly. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  GOD  IN  THE  GARDEN 

Desir^e's  one  feaj  in  the  glamorous  days  that 
followed  was  that  Judith  should  discover  her 
secret,  drag  it  into  the  light  of  day  and  fret  at  it 
with  restless  sacrilegious  fingers.  Her  cheeks 
burned  at  the  thought  of  her  former  dissection  of 
men  and  motives.  It  had  jarred  before.  She 
felt  that  it  would  half -kill  her  now.  To  couple 
Jeremy's  name  with  hers,  to  laugh,  to  tease,  to 
probe,  to  speculate?  .  .  .     She  could  not  bear  it. 

But  the  miraculous  happened.  The  lovers  were 
hidden  in  a  golden  mist  of  non-comprehension,  and 
Judy's  only  comment  on  the  morning  rides  was : 

"Are  you  teaching  the  bear  to  dance?  I  don't 
envy  you  your  job,  Dede.  'But  then  you  always 
seem  to  attract  such  queer  people !  Do  you  re- 
member little  Lensky,  the  musician?" 

Desiree  gave  a  sigh  of  thankfulness.  Judy 
suspected  nothing,  saw  nothing.  Perhaps  her 
own  love-affair,  instead  of  sharpening  her  vision 
clouded  it.   ,    .    . 

So  the  week  of  Princess  Pafnuty's  visit  sped  to 
the  night  of  the  dinner-party.    Neighbours  were 

1 86 


The  God  in  the  Garden  187 

rallied  for  bridge  and  tennis :  cars  were  ruthlessly 
commandeered  for  expeditions:  and  as  yet  the 
great  word  "love"  had  not  been  spoken  by  the 
two  who  lived,  breathed,  and  exhaled  it  in  all  save 
actual  speech.   .    .    . 

Desiree  dressed  early.  She  was  restless,  she 
did  not  know  why.  She  had  no  desire  to  make  a 
public  entry.  She  evaded  notice  as  much  as 
possible  in  these  dream-days  that  glided  by  in  two 
distinct  divisions :  the  moments  when  she  was  with 
Jeremy  and  the  epochs  when  she  was  not. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Jeremy  would  see  her 
in  evening  dress.  She  wanted  to  please  him. 
Certainly  it  was  a  sufficiently  charming  vision  that 
confronted  her  questioning  gaze. 

She  wore  her  mother's  filmy  lace,  out  of  which 
her  young  neck  and  shoulders  rose  warmly  white. 
Her  fair  mist  of  hair  framed  a  face  flushed  by  ex- 
citement to  an  unwonted  rose.  Her  breath  came 
and  went  flutteringly. 

"Shall  I  wear  grandmother's  pearls?"  she  won- 
dered.    "Or  Cousin  Ludlow's  star  sapphire?" 

With  trembling  hands  she  tried  the  effect  of 
each,  finally  deciding  on  the  jewelled  pendant. 
It  matched  her  eyes,  she  thought,  and  made  them 
look  brighter  .    .    .  for  Jeremy. 

She  slipped  downstairs  and  into  the  stately 
oval  drawing-room,  fragrant  with  the  scent  of 
sweet-peas  in  great  china  bowls.  As  she  bent 
over  the  butterfly-flowers  to  inhale  their  sweetness 
she  looked  not  unlike  one  herself.    A  rustling 


i88  The  Beloved  Sinner 

behind  her  drew  her  attention.  She  raised  her 
head  to  find  that  Princess  Pafnuty  had  entered 
and  stood  in  the  doorway,  posed  as  if  for  a 
portrait. 

Desiree  had  never  seen  her  in  full  dress  before. 
It  was  something  of  a  revelation.  Lisaveta  had 
tinted  the  tiny  worn  face  to  a  marvellous  sem- 
blance of  youth,  and  dressed  the  faded  fair  hair  in 
the  very  latest  mode,  thrust  through  with  a  high 
emerald  comb.  The  slight  sexless  body  was 
swathed  in  a  sheath  of  golden  tissue  over  which 
hung  a  drapery  of  dark  emerald  chiffon.  Tiny 
gold  sandals  peeped  from  beneath  its  edge.  Lili 
Pafnuty  smiled  at  the  girl's  astonished  face. 

"You  have  never  seen  me  en  grande  tenue  be- 
fore," she  laughed.  "But  I  am  citoyenne  du 
monde.  I  can  shed  the  simple  life  at  will.  You 
like  me,  no  ?  I  see  flattery  in  your  eyes.  You  are 
afraid  I  shall  take  your  big  bear  from  you,  no? 
He  talks  French,  Judy  tells  me.  He  must  talk 
to  me !    Why  did  I  not  know  before  ? ' ' 

She  seemed  to  grow  more  affectedly  foreign 
with  her  garb  of  sophistication,  Desiree  thought. 

"You  look  awfully  pretty, "  she  began,  but  the 
Princess  went  on  in  her  usual  way  without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer :  * '  My  clock  is  ten  minutes  fast. 
That  fool  of  a  Lisaveta  forgot  to  alter  it.  It  is  a 
gene  to  be  so  early.  I  think  I  shall  retreat  again, 
and  make  a  grande  entree  later  to  astonish  the 
rustics.     Shall  I?" 

Suddenly  her  hazel-yellow  eyes  narrowed  like  a 


The  God  in  the  Garden  189 

cat's.  With  one  swift  rustling  movement  she  was 
on  Desiree,  with  outstretched  finger. 

"Pssttt!  What  is  that?"  she  cried,  pointing  at 
the  giri's  neck.     "What  is  that? " 

"What?"  asked  Desiree,  shrinking  back. 

"My  sapphire!  My  beloved  star  sapphire," 
shrieked  the  Princess.  "Girl,  where  did  you  get 
it?"  The  small  face  was  distorted,  ablaze.  She 
looked  like  a  miniature  fury. 

"It  is  my  sapphire,  my  godfather  gave  it  to 
me." 

"Your  godfather?  Who  is  he,  and  how  could 
he  give  you  my  sapphire?" 

"His  name  is  Lord  Garry  and " 

'  *  His  name  is  Lord  Garry,"  mocked  the  Princess, 
her  momentary  anger  melting  suddenly  into  peals 
of  shrill  laughter.  "Is  it  indeed?  And  he  has 
given  you  my  sapphire!  How  like  him!  Mon 
dieu,  what  a  droll  world  it  is ! " 

"But  it  could  never  have  been  yours,"  Desiree 
protested.  "It  belonged  to  his  mother,  he  told 
me.  You  can't  pretend  to  have  been  Cousin 
Ludlow's  mother ! " 

"Oh,  Id,  Id!  I  shall  die  of  laughter,"  gasped  the 
Princess.  "No,  my  innocent  bebe,  Dede,  I  was 
never  Lord  Garry's  mother,  but  I  was  once  his 
wife;  Camilla,  Lady  Garry,  if  you  please!" 

' '  You  ! ' '  Desiree  echoed,  recoiling.  * '  You  were 
Cousin  Ludlow's  wife?" 

"Yes,  mon  dieu,  and  what  a  dance  I  led  him! 
I  nearly  killed  him,  poor  man.     It  was  as  well  we 


190  The  Beloved  Sinner 

parted  when  we  did.  ...  I  should  like  to  see 
him  again.  How  has  he  worn?  As  well  as  I 
have?" 

The  colossal  egoism  and  callousness  of  the  little 
eager  creature  roused  a  wrath  in  Desiree  that 
choked  back  speech.  So  this — this  "whirlwind 
in  petticoats  "  as  Uncle  John  had  aptly  dubbed  her, 
was  the  "tornado"  that  had  almost  wrecked 
Cousin  Ludlow's  life  and  happiness!  And  she 
had  the  eflrontery  to  speak  of  him  with  a  smile, 
actually  to  say  that  she  would  like  to  see  him 
again !  This  smirched  woman  whom  he  had  been 
obliged  to  divorce! 

"Are  you  deaf,  girl?"  Princess  Pafnuty  said 
sharply.  "I  asked  you  how  Ludlow  had  worn. 
Why  don't  you  answer  me?" 

Desiree  faced  her.  Sparks  shot  from  her  blue 
eyes  as  bright  as  the  diamond-sparks  round  the 
disputed  sapphire.  True  to  her  sex,  she  was 
instantly  in  arms  against  a  woman  who  had  in- 
jured a  man  she  loved,  all  her  shrinking  aversions 
now  accounted  for  by  that  curious  instinct  which 
is  beyond  reason  or  explanation. 

"I  don't  answer  you,"  she  said,  with  her  fine 
little  head  held  high,  "because  I  don't  want  ever 
to  speak  to  you  again.  I  love  Cousin  Ludlow, 
and  I  think  you  treated  him  abominably. " 

She  turned  to  leave  the  room  and  an  astonished 
Princess,  and  ran  into  Lady  Monica,  who  was 
entering  just  in  time  to  receive  the  first  of  her 
guests.     Desiree  was  trapped.     She  retreated  into 


The  God  in  the  Garden  191 

one  of  the  window-seats  where  presently  Jeremy 
found  her. 

The  instant  his  eyes  met  hers  he  knew  that 
something  had  happened. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked  as  he  held  her  hand  for 
a  moment. 

A  quick  sense  of  comfort  warmed  her  at  the 
contact.  Everything  was  all  right  so  long  as 
Jeremy  was  here:  but  for  the  first  time  her  will 
leaped  ahead  of  her  heart.  She  wished  that  the 
intangible  had  been  put  into  words :  that  he'  might 
be  hers  and  she  his  before  all  the  world  as  they 
were  in  each  other's  inmost  hearts. 

"I'll  tell  you  later,"  she  murmured,  "I  can't 
here  and  now. " 

"Let's  slip  away  after  dinner.  We'll  go  to  the 
rose-garden, "  he  said  in  a  voice  of  curbed  longing. 

How  was  she  to  know  how  he  had  restrained 
himself  all  these  days  lest  he  should  frighten  or 
flutter  her  by  speaking  too  soon?  Now  he  felt 
that  he  could  wait  no  longer.  Not  that  they 
really  stood  on  any  edge  of  doubt,  but  with  him, 
as  with  her,  some  tremor  of  uncertainty  seemed 
suddenly  to  have  blown  across  their  golden  days. 

"Am  I  taking  you  in?" 

Desiree  shook  her  head.  "You're  much  too 
important  a  person. " 

He  moved  impatiently.  * '  It's  a  false  importance 
if  it  keeps  me  from  my  heart's  desire. " 

"Meaning — ?"  she  said,  with  a  tilted  eyebrow 
and  a  quick  happy  little  smile. 


192  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Meaning,"  he  answered  with  a  look  that  ca- 
ressed her,  "the  only  thing  which  it  could  possibly 
mean," 

Then  Lady  Monica  bore  down  on  him.   .    .    , 

During  dinner  Desiree  heard  Princess  Pafnuty 
chattering  French  to  Jeremy  in  high  bird-like 
tones.  Once  or  twice  she  caught  a  bright  malicious 
look  across  the  table.  Under  the  thrill  which  his 
words  had  given  her  lurked  an  indefinable  sense 
of  uneasiness.  She  wondered  vaguely  if — the 
rose-garden — would  dispel  it.  It  would  make  life 
more  concrete,  somehow:  settle  her  place  in  it 
definitely  and  for  ever,  give  her  a  reason  for  exist- 
ence such  as  her  light-hearted  days  had  never  held 
before.  Would  it  break  the  spell,  though,  or  only 
transmute  it  to  something  still  more  splendid  ?  .  ,  . 

After  dinner  she  retired  again  to  her  window- 
seat,  where  she  sat  half -hidden  by  the  old-rose 
brocade  curtains.  Judith  saw  her  manoeuvre 
with  a  somewhat  cynical  smile.  Princess  Paf- 
nuty leaned  against  the  chimney-piece,  one  gold- 
sandalled  foot  held  out  to  the  small  fire  of  logs, 
which  spurted  blue  and  orange  flames  in  the  grate, 
and  held  forth  with  intent  to  shock  Mrs.  Vyse  and 
Mrs.  Turnour-Brady,  who  sat  on  the  couch  near 
her. 

When  the  men  came  in  Jeremy  went  straight  to 
the  window-seat. 

"I  should  like  to  pick  you  up  in  my  arms  and 
carry  you  away  from  all  these — babblers,"  he 
said  very  low.     ' '  Can't  we  escape  ? " 


The  God  in  the  Garden  193 

"Wait,"  she  said,  instinctively  evading  the 
moment  she  longed  for.  "Princess  Pafnuty  will 
probably  dance  in  a  minute,  and  then  we  can  slip 
away. ' ' 

As  she  spoke  something  white  fell  at  their  feet. 
Jeremy  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  It  was  a  slip  of 
paper,  folded  into  a  dart  such  as  small  school-boys 
love  to  make,  and  on  it  was  written,  "Come  and 
talk  more  French  with  me.     Lili  Pafnuty. " 

"I'll  be  jiggered  if  I  do, "  said  Jeremy,  showing 
the  slip  to  Desiree. 

She  flushed.  "If  Dick  or  Roddy  did  such  a 
thing  as  that  I  shouldn't  speak  to  them  for  days. 
She's  an  impossible  person!" 

*  *  Let's  forget  about  her, ' '  he  murmured.  '  *  Look, 
Tumour-Brady  and  the  Vicar  are  closing  in  on  her 
now.     Let  us  escape  while  yet  we  may. " 

There  was  a  movement,  an  adjustment  of 
groups,  under  cover  of  which  they  slipped  to  the 
door.  In  the  solitude  of  the  hall  Jeremy  held  out 
his  hand  to  her. 

"Desiree,"  he  said.     His  voice  shook. 

She  put  hers  into  it  with  a  swift  upward  look. 

"Let's  go  out  by  the  garden-door,"  she  said. 
Her  heart-beats  sounded  in  her  ears  like  distant 
thunder. 

Out  of  a  sudden  sh3niess  she  broke  into  hurried 
speech. 

"I  said  I  would  tell  you  after  dinner, "  she  said 
quickly.  "Princess  Pafnuty  is  Cousin  Ludlow's 
divorced  wife.     I  always  felt  repelled  by  her,  I 


194  The  Beloved  Sinner 

didn't  know  why.  I  do  now.  She  made  him 
very  unhappy.  She  must  be  quite  old — as  old  as 
mother — and  yet  she  goes  on  like  that!  Isn't  it 
disgusting?  Why  can't  she  accept  the  inevitable 
and  grow  old  gracefully?" 

"A  divorced  woman  here  with  you?"  said 
Jeremy,  rising  anger  in  his  tones.  ' '  I  won't  have 
it.     You  must  come  to  Beaumont  tomorrow. " 

The  mastery  in  his  voice  thrilled  and  amused  her 
at  the  same  time.     She  gave  a  little  excited  laugh. 

"But  she's  going  tomorrow.  At  least  I  hope 
so.  Then  Jill  comes  back  and  the  wedding  fuss 
will  begin. " 

They  had  reached  the  perfumed  space  of  the 

I  rose-garden.     The  night  was  cloudy:  the  moon 

had  not  yet  risen.     Wafts  of  wind,  scented  with 

roses,  came  gustily  now  and  then  with  troubling 

sweetness. 

"Don't  let's  talk  of  other  people's  weddings," 
said  Jeremy  rather  thickly.  ' '  Let's  talk  about  our 
own." 

"Our  own?"  She  faltered  and  stood  still, 
every  instinct  a-tiptoe  for  flight. 

In  an  instant  his  arms  were  round  her,  his  cheek 
on  her  hair,  his  whole  strong  body  trembling 
against  hers. 

"Don't  play  with  me,  "he  said  hoarsely. 
"We've  found  the  biggest  thing  in  the  world. 
You  won't  cheapen  it  by  pretending,  will  you? " 

His  passion  made  her  tremble  too.  Here  was 
something  too  great,  too  elemental  to  be  lightly 


The  God  in  the  Garden  195 

dealt  with.  She  put  up  a  shaking  hand  behind  his 
head. 

' '  No, ' '  she  whispered.     * '  No,  Jeremy. ' ' 

"My  dearest!     My  loveliest!"  he  cried. 

Their  lips  met.  .  .  .  Desiree  closed  her  eyes, 
half -fainting  in  a  timeless  ecstasy  such  as  she  had 
never  even  dreamed  of.  The  heavens  might  have 
shrivelled  like  a  scroll,  the  stars  reeled  out  of  the 
sky,  but  the  two  in  the  rose-garden  would  have 
been  unaware  of  anything  in  the  universe  save 
the  supreme  fact  of  their  love. 

"You  are  mine!  Mine!"  Jeremy  whispered 
between  his  kisses.  "Mine,  as  I  am  yours,  for 
ever  and  ever." 

"Yes, "  she  breathed  faintly,  feeling  as  if  all  her 
previous  life  had  been  but  a  preparation  for  this 
ineffable  moment  in  which  he  and  she  drew  irresist- 
ibly together,  welded  into  one  in  a  passion  of  joy 
hitherto  inconceivable.  The  darts  and  rose  leaves 
of  her  girlhood's  god  shrivelled  into  ashes  in  the 
flame  which  burned  upon  this  altar  of  love. 

Broken  sentences  came  between  the  silences. 

"Was  it  from  the  first ?" 

"The  very  first.    .    .    .     With  you,  too?" 

"With  me  too." 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  that  night " 

"Why  didn't  you?" 

'  *  I  was  afraid ' ' 

"Afraid?"  she  echoed  with  happy  scorn. 

"Of  frightening  you. " 

"Oh,  foolish  Jeremy!" 


196  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Say  sweetheart. " 

"Oh,  fooHsh  sweetheart!" 

"My  beloved!   .    .    .     Say  you  love  me. " 

She  shivered  as  she  lay  against  him.  "Jeremy. 
.    .    .     I  can't.    .    .    .     It's  too  much.   ..." 

"To  please  me,  "  he  whispered. 

"Jeremy  .  .  .  I  .  .  .  love  you. "  She  flung 
her  arms  round  his  neck  and  crushed  her  soft 
cheek  against  his  hard  brown  one,  her  heart  leap- 
ing like  a  bird  beneath  his  hand. 

"My  very  dearest  .  .  .  I  want  to  kneel,  "  he 
stq,mmered  brokenly. 

Then,  sharp  as  a  spear-thrust,  the  world  cut 
across  their  ecstasy.  Somewhere  a  voice,  at  first 
merely  questing,  then  sharpened  with  annoyance 
called : 

"Desiree!  .  .  .  D6de!  .  .  .     Where  are  you?" 

Slowly  she  raised  herself.  Reluctantly  his 
arms  slackened. 

"There  are  other  people  in  the  world  after  all, " 
he  said  in  a  dazed  way. 

"Someone  wants  me,"  Desiree  murmured. 

"All  the  world  wants  my  Desiree,  but  I  most  of 
all." 

Again  the  voice  called:  "Dede!  Where  are 
you?" 

"Here!  I'm  coming!"  Desiree  answered.  "It's 
Judy.  I  wonder  what  she  wants.  Can  it  be  time 
for  you  to  go  ? " 

' '  Impossible, "  he  said.  '  'We've  only  just  come 
out.     Kiss  me  again  before  she  finds  us. ' ' 


The  God  in  the  Garden  197 

They  clung  together  for  a  passionate  moment 
quick  with  the  possibility  of  discovery.  Then 
Judith  was  upon  them,  a  pale  blur  in  the  half- 
light  :  sensing  at  once  a  raptTure  in  which  she  would 
never  share. 

"Why  were  you  hiding?"  she  asked  crossly. 
'  'Jeremy,  your  mother  wants  to  go  home.  * ' 


CHAPTER  XV 

INTERVENTION 

Light  was  ablaze  in  the  hall  when  they  entered, 
blinking  at  the  dazzling  change  from  the  soft 
enfolding  shadows  of  the  night.  Mrs.  Vyse  sat  on 
the  couch  near  the  stairs,  impassive  in  her  purple 
evening-coat,  talking  to  Lady  Monica.  She 
looked  sharply  at  the  three  as  they  came  in. 

"I'm  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting, "  Jeremy 
said.  He  wanted  to  proclaim  his  joy  to  all  the 
world,  but  this  was  neither  time  nor  place. 

Desiree  flitted  across  the  hall  to  put  some  space 
between  her  tell-tale  face  and  scrutinizing  eyes. 
An  orange  patch  on  the  marble  chimney-piece 
caught  her  eye.  She  glanced  at  it  carelessly.  It 
was  a  telegram  addressed  to  her.  With  beating 
pulses  she  tore  it  open. 

"When  did  this  come?"  she  cried,  her  face  and 
lips  drained  of  colour,  all  joy  stricken  to  ashes. 

In  an  instant  Jeremy  was  at  her  side.  "What 
is  it?" 

Without  speaking  she  put  the  telegram  into  his 
hand. 

"Come  home  at  once  mother  ill  typhoid,"  he 
198 


Intervention  199 

read.  "Your  mother?  My  darling!"  he  said 
below  his  breath. 

"Mother!  I  must  go  at  once.  Can  I  go  now> 
tonight  ? ' '  the  girl  cried.     ' '  Aunt  Monica ! ' ' 

In  an  instant  there  was  a  little  bustle  of  con- 
fusion, incoherent  sympathy,  scattered  sugges- 
tions. 

"Very  unusual  for  a  woman  of  her  age,"  said 
Lady  Monica.  "Of  course  you  can't  go  tonight, 
child.  There  is  no  hurry.  No  danger  either, 
probably.  Brigid  is  a  woman  of  unbroken  con- 
stitution.    Did  she  complain  at  all  lately?" 

"She  never  complains.  I  must  go  to  her  at 
once — at  once, "  cried  Desiree  desperately,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other.  She  turned  to  Jeremy. 
"Can't  you  take  me  to  her  tonight?" 

"No,"  he  answered  quietly.  "There  is  no 
suitable  train  tonight,  but  I'll  take  you  in  the 
morning  to  catch  the  9.20  at  Cottenham.  Don't 
you  think  that  is  the  best  plan,  Lady  Monica? 
That  will  get  her  home  about  half -past  twelve." 
He  took  the  cold  trembling  hand  in  his  and  spoke 
for  her  ear  alone.  "Go  to  bed  now  and  try  to 
sleep.  Please  God  you  will  find  your  mother  do- 
ing well  tomorrow.  I'll  call  for  you  at  a  quarter 
to  nine." 

"You  won't  be  late,"  she  said, 'shivering  and 
looking  up  at  him  with  pitiful  eyes. 

"No.  I  shan't  be  late.  ...  I  can't  bear  to 
leave  you,  "  he  breathed  passionately. 

"I  wish  you  needn't, "  she  said  simply. 


200  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Jeremy,  I  think  it  is  time  for  us  to  go,"  said 
his  mother's  voice  behind  him,  "I  am  very  sorry 
for  your  trouble,  my  dear,  and  hope  that  you  will 
find  your  mother  better  on  your  arrival.  Did  I 
hear  my  son  offering  to  drive  you  to  Cottenham  in 
the  morning?" 

"Yes,  Mrs.  Vyse." 

"Would  it  not  be  better  for  him  to  take  you 
direct  to  Westleigh  Junction?  You  could  get 
the  express  there  and  need  only  change  at  Church- 
ampton. " 

"Thank  you.  Yes.  Whatever  you  think  best. 
.  .  .  But  be  sure  not  to  be  late."  She  turned 
again  to  Jeremy. 

"You  may  trust  me. " 

"I  do, "  was  all  she  said,  but  her  look  went  with 
him  through  the  night:  her  pitiful  changed  look, 
so  quenched  of  the  joy  that  comes  only  once  in  a 
lifetime,  yet  so  full  of  infinite  trust.  With  all  his 
heart  he  longed  to  stay  near  her,  to  comfort  her. 
It  was  like  severing  a  part  of  himself  to  tear  himself 
away. 

His  mother  forebore  to  question,  but  as  the  car 
rolled  along  in  the  darkness  she  put  her  hand  on  his 
knee:  an  unwonted  caress.  He  gripped  it.  The 
touch  spoke  to  her. 

' '  Have  you  found  the  one  woman,  my  son  ? "  she 
asked  quietly. 

"Yes,  mother,  "  he  answered. 

She  pressed  the  hand  she  held.  She  had  known 
long  ago  that  abdication  must  come  one  day,  but 


Intervention  201 

the  moment  of  actual  realization  is  a  bitter-sweet 
one  in  the  heart  of  any  mother. 

"May  God  give  you  both  joy,  Jeremy,"  she  said, 
with  the  first  pang  of  renunciation. 

Was  this  pretty,  frivolous  little  girl  good  enough 
for  him?  Was  any  woman  in  the  world  good 
enough  for  him?  Would  she  make  him  happy, 
her  son  of  sons?  If  only  she  did  that,  she 
would  love  her,  gay  and  trivial  as  she  might  be. 
Desiree  Hasard  was  not  the  woman  she  would 
have  chosen  for  Jeremy — (what  woman  was?) — 
but  already  a  half-reluctant  liking  for  the  girl 
had  crept  about  her  heart.  She  tried  to  say 
something  of  this  to  Jeremy,  but  failed.  They 
were  no  good  at  putting  their  feelings  into  words, 
these  two,  but  they  understood  each  other  all 
the  same.  .  .  . 

Next  morning  Jeremy's  most  delicate  observ- 
ances encompassed  Desiree.  She  felt  as  if  he 
stood  between  her  and  the  world,  wrapping  her 
round  in  his  infinite  care.  There  was  something 
exquisitely  restful  in  his  tenderness.  Passion  had 
no  place  in  it.  She  was  white  and  tired  after  a 
night  of  broken  sleep,  haunted  by  horrible  frag- 
ments of  dreams — visions  of  shattered  joys,  of 
vague  inestimable  losses — that  awakened  her  to 
find  her  cheeks  wet  with  tears,  and  set  her  tossing 
imtil  exhaustion  changed  her  with  another  rem- 
nant of  intangible  tragedy. 

Now  dew-washed  morning,  sunshine,  and  rush- 
ing air,  combined  with  the  comfort  of  Jeremy's 


202  The  Beloved  Sinner 

presence,  helped  to  restore  her  to  normality  and 
banish  the  hot,  broken  torments  of  the  night. 

A  letter  from  her  father  helped  to  ease  her 
fears. 

"A  mild  attack,  the  doctor  calls  it,"  she  told 
Jeremy.  "But  of  course  it  is  a  little  dangerous 
at  her  age,  he  says.  ...  I  was  wondering  why  I 
hadn't  heard  from  her.  I  wrote  last  week  beg- 
ging of  her  to  come  to  the  wedding.  They  all 
wanted  her.  .  .  .  You'd  have  seen  her  then.  .  .  . 
Jerry,  do  you  know  anjrthing  about  typhoid? 
Is  it is  it ?" 

"Not  much,  I'm  afraid.  I've  heard  that  a 
great  deal  depends  on  good  nursing.  It  is  a  long 
tedious  illness,  I  believe,  but  most  people  get  over 
it.  You'll  tell  me  when  I  may  come,  won't  you? 
I  can't  bother  your  father  now,  but  it's  all  right 
so  long  as  we  know  we  belong  to  each  other,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  smiling  at  him.  "Jeremy, 
you're  the  dearest  dear  that  ever  lived ! " 

"Am  I?"  His  eyes  sought  hers  hungrily. 
"You  know  what  you  are? " 

"No.  Nothing  impossible,  I  hope."  Yet  even 
while  she  deprecated  she  longed  to  hear  the  most 
impossible  deamesses  he  could  utter. 

The  road  wound,  a  white  emptiness,  before 
them.  He  slipped  his  arm  round  her  and  spoke 
from  his  very  heart. 

"You  are  my  ideal  woman,  my  secret  dreams 
made  flesh.     Your  white  soul  is  as  exquisite  as 


Intervention  203 

your  white  body.  Your  lovely  spirit  shines  out 
of  your  lovely  face.  You  are  as  high  above  me 
as  the  stars  above  the  earth  and  yet,  you  stooped 
— tome  .  .  .  tome!" 

The  intensity  of  his  worship  frightened  her. 

"No,  Jerry  darling,  you  mustn't  exalt  me  like 
that, "  she  cried.  "I'm  only  a  very  human,  very 
ordinary  girl,  full  of  flaws  just  like  every  other 
girl.  Please  don't  put  me  on  a  pinnacle,  I'd  be 
sure  to  topple  and  then  how  hurt  you'd  be !  Keep 
me  down  near  your  side,  close,  close,  and  let  me 
have  your  hand  to  hold  for  fear  I'd  fall." 

But  Jeremy  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  her  self- 
deprecation.  "Whether  you  like  it  or  not  you're 
high  on  the  peaks  above  me.  Give  me  your  hand 
if  you  will  to  help  to  draw  me  up  to  you." 

She  slipped  it  out  of  her  glove  and  put  it  to  his 
lips.  He  kissed  her  palm,  then  closed  her  fingers 
on  it. 

"You  hold  my  heart  where  I  have  put  my  kiss, 
in  the  rosy  hollow  of  your  little  hand.  .  .  .  Did 
you  tell  any  one  at  Frayne? " 

"No,  but  I  think  Judy  suspects.  She  called 
you  '  the  god  in  the  car '  and  said  you  liked  playing 
Providence !    Poor  Judy ! ' ' 

"Sweetheart,  my  mother  guessed." 

'  *  Did  she  ?     Does  she  mind  ? ' ' 

* '  Mind  ?  How  could  she  ?  She  wished  us  both 
joy  and  said  she  would  write  to  you.  She  is  sure 
to  love  you,  when  she  knows  you  better." 

"She  may  like  me, "  said  Desiree,  "but  I  think 


204  The  Beloved  Sinner 

it's  too  much  to  expect  of  human  nature  that  a 
mother-in-law  should  love  her  daughter-in-law." 

"I  hate  'in-law',"  cried  Jeremy.  "It  has  the 
clanking  sound  of  chains.  Mothers  can  love  their 
daughters,  and  you'll  be  a  daughter  to  mine." 

"I'll  try.  .  .  .  Oh,  I  wonder  how  my  mother  is ! 
I  hate  to  think  of  her  being  ill.  .  .  .  Perhaps  if 
I  hadn't  left  her  she " 

"Wonderful  as  you  are,  you  couldn't  have  done 
battle  with  a  typhoid  germ, "  said  Jeremy  consol- 
ingly. "So  don't  worry  your  dear  head  about 
that!" 

Westleigh  Junction  was  reached  in  a  surprisingly 
short  time.  Desiree's  heart  sank  at  the  thought 
of  parting  from  her  lover.  He  was  so  comforting, 
such  a  staff  to  lean  upon,  that  without  him  she 
would  feel  frail  and  tottering. 

She  fumbled  in  her  pocket  and  held  out  her 
little  silver  purse  to  him. 

' '  Very  pretty, ' '  he  said, ' '  but  what's  it  f or  ? " 

She  blushed.     "To  get  my  ticket." 

"Foolish  child,  don't  you  realize  that  you  belong 
to  me  now  ?  Tickets  and  such  mundane  things 
are  no  longer  your  concern.  They're  mine. 
Wait  here.     I  shan't  be  a  second. ' ' 

Familiar  words  flashed  through  Desiree's  mind 
as  she  watched  her  big  man  walk  down  the  plat- 
form and  disappear  into  the  ticket-office. 

*  *  The  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  dry  land  where 
no  water  is.  ..." 

"And  he's  mine — mine,"  she  thought  with  a 


Intervention  205 

thrill  of  pride.  "Though  I  didn't  know  till  last 
night  how  dry  a  land  it  could  be." 

Things  arranged  themselves  with  magical  pre- 
cision for  her  comfort.  A  reserved  first-class 
carriage  stopped  opposite  her,  furnished  with  the 
newest  novels,  papers,  magazines,  chocolates, 
and  a  luncheon-basket.  Most  magical  of  all, 
when  words  of  farewell  tried  to  tremble  on  her 
lips,  Jeremy  got  in  and  sat  down  opposite  her. 

"You  didn't  think  I  was  going  to  let  you  travel 
all  that  way  alone?"  he  said,  in  answer  to  a  look 
from  eyes  suddenly  brimming  over.  "I'm  going 
to  see  you  into  the  train  at  Churchampton.  I 
wish  I  might  come  all  the  way,  but  I  must  wait 
until  your  mother  is  better." 

Two  big  tears  of  relief  suddenly  splashed  down 
Desiree's  cheeks. 

"My  own  Jerry!"  she  cried,  holding  out  her 
hands. 

The  train  moved,  and  gathering  speed  bore 
them  out  of  the  station.  Once  more  they  started 
on  a  journey  together  with  a  parting  looming  for 
each  before  its  end,  but  this  time  with  what  a 
difference ! 

Jeremy  bent  over  and  took  her  hands  in  his, 
holding  them  tightly. 

' '  I  have  a  pre- wedding  feast  in  that  basket  for 
you,"  he  said  in  tones  as  purposely  ordinary  as 
he  could  make  them.  "You  had  an  early  start, 
and  I  know  you  ate  no  breakfast.  Would  you  say 
'no'  to  some  chicken-sandwiches  and  peaches?" 


2o6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Peaches!"  she  smiled  through  her  tears.  "I 
could  never  say  '  no '  to  them ! ' ' 

He  drew  her  closer,  his  tone  changing  suddenly. 

"Do  you  know  you  haven't  kissed  me  today? 
,  .  .     Could  you  say  '  no '  to  a  starving  man  ? ' ' 

"Not  to  you,"  she  whispered.  "Oh  Jerry,  I 
didn't  know  that  love  was  like  this.  ...  I  love 
you  so  that  it — that  it  almost  hurts." 

"My  love  would  never  hurt  you,  heart's 
dearest, "  he  murmured. 

Yet  even  as  they  kissed  she  thought  of  his 
changed  face  that  morning — how  long  ago  it 
seemed — and  shivered  a  little. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   FEET   OF    NEMESIS 

When  Desiree  reached  Bressy  she  was  conscious 
of  change,  within  and  without.  Not  in  the 
sleepy  little  town,  crowding  down  to  the  tidal 
river,  with  its  grey-towered  church  watching 
over  it  from  amidst  sheltering  trees,  but  in  what 
made  up  the  sum  of  her  daily  life:  her  hitherto 
unchanging  home,  and  her  hitherto  unawakened 
self. 

It  was  strange  to  come  back  to  the  Rectory  and 
find  no  welcoming  mother-arms  waiting  to  enfold 
her:  strange  to  find  a  jolting  routine  where  life 
always  had  run  on  oiled  wheels :  strange  to  find  a 
wandering  bewildered  father,  shaken  out  of  his 
groove  by  the  suspension  from  activity  of  her  on 
whom  his  days  had  unconsciously  pivoted :  strange 
to  find  the  once  happy  household  brooding  under 
the  shadow  of  illness:  strange  to  find  white- 
capped,  capable,  but  utterly  unknown  nurses  in 
charge,  whose  lightest  word  was  law,  on  whose 
nod  all  decisions  trembled. 

It  was  a  relief  when  she  was  at  last  allowed  to 

see  her  mother  to  find  Lady  Brigid  looking,  at 

207 


2o8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

first  glance,  much  as  usual  if  heavier  of  eye  and 
more  flushed  of  cheek. 

The  welcoming  arms  were  stretched  out  at 
last.  With  a  little  cry  Desiree  flung  herself  into 
them. 

"Gently,  gently,  Miss  Hasard.  No  excite- 
ment, if  you  please, "  remonstrated  the  nurse. 

"Please,  nurse,"  pleaded  the  dear  voice  with 
its  touch  of  brogue.  "The  sight  of  my  child  will 
do  me  more  good  than  all  your  nasty  medicines 
put  together." 

"Very  well.  I '11  give  her  five  minutes,  then,  Lady 
Brigid."  There  was  a  little  rustle  of  starched 
garments,  and  the  sound  of  a  softly  closed  door. 

"Ah,  my  treasure!  My  chicken!"  crooned 
Lady  Brigid,  stroking  the  bright  hair  she  loved. 
"It's  good  to  see  you  again  after  all  these  years!" 

"Has  it  seemed  so  long?"  murmured  Desiree 
conscience-stricken.  "Darling!  I'd  have  flown 
home  any  time  if  I  thought  you  really  wanted 
me. 

"Don't  I  always  want  you,  belovedest?  .  .  . 
But  I  hated  to  bring  you  back  from  your  fun. 
Isn't  it  a  nuisance  that  I  should  have  got  this  old 
typhoid  ?  I  thought  I  was  tough  enough  to  resist 
any  microbe!  I  ought  to  be  at  my  age.  .  .  . 
You'll  see  to  your  Daddy,  won't  you?  He 
wanders  about  like  a  lost  spirit,  Jane  tells  me. 
.  .  .     Oh,  it  is  good  to  have  you  back!" 

"You  should  have  sent  for  me  long  ago."  At 
the  realization  of  what  it  would  have  meant  had 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  209 

she  been  summoned  before  she  had  met  Jeremy- 
she  flushed  hotly  and  hid  her  face  against  her 
mother's  pillow. 

Intuition  pierced  through  Lady  B  rigid 's  fevered 
senses. 

"Dede,  look  at  me!" 

Half-shyly,  half-triumphantly  the  girl  raised 
her  head.  The  mother's  clouded  blue  eyes  looked 
deep  into  her  young  radiant  ones.  The  knowledge 
of  womanhood  spoke  from  each  to  each. 

"Has  it  come  to  you,  then,  my  darling? " 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Tell  me."     The  hot  dry  hand  drew  her  closer, 

"He  is  the  dearest — you'll  love  him,"  mur- 
mured Desiree  incoherently. 

"What's  his  name?" 

"Jeremy  Vyse." 

"A  good  name,"  said  Lady  Brigid  faintly. 
"Is  he  one  of  the  Vyses  of  Beaumont?" 

"He  is  the  Vyse  of  Beaumont,"  Desiree  an- 
swered with  a  thrill  of  pride. 

"Now,  Miss  Hasard,  you  mustn't  tire  Lady 
Brigid, "  said  the  nurse's  voice.  "You  may  come 
in  for  a  few  minutes  later  on  if  you're  good." 

"Haven't  I  been  good,  mother?"  asked  Desiree. 

"Very  good,  my  chicken,"  said  Lady  Brigid 
feebly.  She  smiled  at  Desiree,  and  then  closed 
her  eyes  as  if  the  lids  were  too  heavy  to  stay  open 
any  longer. 

It  gave  Desiree  a  pang  to  see  her  so  tired,  so 
stricken. 
14 


210  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"When  will  she  be  better?"  she  asked  the  nurse 
at  the  door. 

"The  fever  has  to  run  its  course,  Miss  Hasard. 
She  was  going  about  with  a  temperature  for  days 
when  she  should  have  been  in  bed." 

"Is  there — is  there  any  danger?"  faltered  De- 
siree,  with  a  horrible  clutching  at  her  heart. 
"  Please  tell  me  the  truth.  I'd  rather  know.  I'm 
awfully  ignorant  about  illness." 

The  nurse  looked  at  her  with  the  first  spark  of 
sympathy  in  her  keen  eyes.  She  had  been  in- 
clined to  blame  the  absent  gadding  daughter. 
She  knew  what  girls  were,  and  how  little  con- 
sideration they  showed  their  mothers;  but  this 
one  wasn't  as  indifferent  as  she  had  assumed. 

"There  is  always  danger  in  a  serious  illness  like 
typhoid  for  a  woman  of  Lady  Brigid's  age,  but  I 
assure  you,  Miss  Hasard,  that  if  careful  nursing 
can  pull  her  through,  she'll  have  it.  Typhoid's 
largely  a  question  of  nursing,  "  she  added.  "Any 
doctor  will  tell  you  that." 

"Oh,  thank  you,"  cried  Desiree,  relieved. 
"If  there's  anything  I  can  do,  won't  you  let  me? 
I  promise  to  do  exactly  as  I'm  told.  .  .  .  If  you'd 
just  let  me  sit  in  her  room.  ...  I  feel  as  if  I 
couldn't  bear  to  let  her  out  of  my  sight." 

* '  Could  you  look  after  Mr.  Hasard  a  bit  ?  That's 
on  her  mind.  It'll  be  an  ease  to  her  to  know  you're 
with  him.     She's  been  worrying  about  him." 

"She  mustn't  worry." 

"No,   she  mustn't  worry,"   echoed  the  ntuse 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  211 

significantly.  "It'd  be  the  worst  thing  possible 
for  her." 

Desiree  went  downstairs  with  a  sinking  heart. 
Life  seemed  suddenly  to  have  focussed  itself 
upon  the  one  spot  where  her  mother  lay.  The 
world,  so  full  of  almost  unbelievable  joy  yesterday, 
had  suddenly  chilled  and  emptied  itself  of  all  its 
wonder,  save  for  that  far-off  corner  where  she  and 
Jeremy  had  lit  their  flame  of  love — how  long  ago  ? 
That  memory  alone  had  power  to  warm.  Was  it 
only  last  night  that  they  had  stood  together  in  the 
rose-garden,  rapt  in  a  mutual  ecstasy?  Only 
last  night  that  she  had  felt  his  body  trembling 
against  hers  with  the  might  of  that  passion  which 
she  alone  had  power  to  evoke?  Only  last  night 
.  .  .  and  already  what  worlds  away!  There 
had  been  nothing  searing,  nothing  repellent  in  the 
fire  of  Jeremy's  passion.  Some  inner  force  in 
herself  responded  to  it,  flame  leaping  to  flame. 
The  thought  of  it  made  a  background  to  the 
endless  day.  The  knowledge  of  it  lay  underneath 
and  permeated  everything.  ... 

Her  father  wandered  in  and  out  aimlessly. 
Even  St.  Osyth's  failed  to  draw  him. 

"Things  are  at  a  standstill  there, "  he  told  Desi- 
ree, when  she  questioned  him.  "I  have  not  heard 
from  young  Wing  for  weeks.  When  last  I  did 
he  told  me  that  he  was  progressing  with  the  screen. 
I  wish  he  had  not  seen  fit  to  go  back  to  London. 
I  should  have  dearly  liked  to  see  its  growth  from 
day  to  day." 


212  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Why  not  ask  him  to  come  back? "  said  Desiree, 
the  suggestion  drawn  from  her  half  against  her 
will. 

The  days  when  Leander  Wing  held  any  menace 
for  her  seemed  vanished  in  a  mist  of  time.  Poor 
boy !  .  .  ,  She  hoped,  with  that  happy  blindness 
which  prevents  lovers  from  seeing  reality  in  any 
love  other  than  their  own,  that  he  had  got  over  his 
fancy  for  her  by  this.  She  was  glad  personally 
that  he  had  not  returned  to  Bressy,  but  if  it  would 
quicken  her  father's  days  and  give  him  some 
outside  interest  in  the  hours  of  suspense  looming 
ahead  she  would  welcome  his  coming. 

"That's  quite  a  good  idea,"  said  the  Rector. 
"I  think  he  must  have  had  enough  of  town  by 
this.  Mrs.  Bolton's  room  is  still  unlet  and  the 
barn-studio  empty.  I'll  write  to  him  tomorrow 
and  suggest  it." 

"Why  not  now?"  Desiree  urged.  "We  can 
go  together  and  post  the  letter."  She  longed  to 
see  him  occupied.  It  pierced  her  heart  to  see  him 
sitting  still,  his  head  on  his  hand,  a  lost  bewildered 
look  in  his  eyes.  .  .  . 

She  had  her  reward  later  in  her  mother's  smile 
when  she  told  her  what  she  had  done. 

"It's  such  a  relief  to  my  mind  to  know  that 
you're  with  him,"  she  sighed.  "Everything  else 
is  going  on  well.  Cook  knows  exactly  how  he 
likes  things  done.  Jane  has  promised  to  see  to 
the  fowls.  Bunt  is  quite  safe  in  the  garden,  but  I 
was  worrying  about  your  poor  Daddy's  loneliness." 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  213 

"You  mustn't  worry  any  more,  darling.  I'll 
look  after  him." 

' '  That's  my  own  chickie ! ' ' 

Desiree  stroked  the  hot  hand  she  held.  "Don't 
you  hate  lying  here  and  being  tyrannized  over?" 

Lady  Brigid  smiled.  "I  don't  know  that  I  do. 
It's  rather  a  nice  change  to  lie  still  and  feel  that 
other  people  are  doing  all  that  they  ought  to  do, 
without  my  having  to  tell  them.  Nurse  is  so 
kind,  too." 

"Don't  let  her  bully  you  too  much.  She 
makes  me  feel  a  worm.  All  you've  got  to  do  now 
is  to  hurry  up  and  get  well.  ...  I  hope  Mr. 
Wing  will  bring  the  screen.  I  shan't  look  at  it 
until  you're  able  to  come  too." 

"Oh,  that  screen!  ...  I  can  smile  about  it 
now,  because  your  father  had  a  cheque  this  morn- 
ing from  Ludlow  for  it.     Isn't  he  good? " 

"He's  a  darling!"  cried  Desiree.  "Oh,  mother, 
— ' '  she  bit  back  the  words.  There  was  no  use  in 
exciting  her  mother  now  by  telling  her  about 
Princess  Pafnuty.  That  must  keep  until  she  was 
better. 

"Oh,  daughter!"  mocked  Lady  Brigid  weakly. 
"I  know  you're  simply  bubbling  to  talk  of  your 
Jeremy.  Tell  me  about  him.  ...  If  only  I  could 
see  him  I  believe  I  could  say  my  Nunc  Dimittis 
quite  happily." 

"Mother,  don't!" 

"Foolish  child!  I  haven't  seen  him  yet.  Are 
you  sure  he's  good  enough?" 


214  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Good  enough!  Mother!  It's  I  who  am  not 
good  enough!" 

It  was  impossible  to  believe  that  she  was  really 
ill,  so  unchanged  was  she  alone  amid  the  changes. 

The  days  dragged  in  an  endless  dreamlike 
routine:  everything  subordinated  to  the  needs  of 
the  invalid.  The  infinitesimal  assumed  profound 
importance:  previous  magnitudes  dwindled  to 
molehills.  The  silent  house  seemed  peopled  with 
shadows  and  footsteps.  The  old  oak 'stairs,  the 
winding  corridors,  were  full  of  a  waiting  silence. 
The  slow  ticking  of  a  clock  seemed  a  menace :  the 
sudden  chink  of  a  spoon  an  alarm.  Daily  the 
fever  took  its  toll  of  Brigid  Hasard,  wasting  her  to 
fragility:  thinning  hands  for  the  first  time  idle, 
and  body  for  the  first  time  resting  from  ministering 
to  others.  Her  eyes  looked  bluer  and  larger  in 
the  white  wanness  of  her  face :  but  her  smile  was 
as  frequent  and  her  gratitude  as  gracious  as  ever 
to  those  who  served  her.  .  .  . 

Then,  through  the  numb  anxiety  of  her  days,  a 
bolt  fell  upon  Desiree :  a  sordid  awakening  to  for- 
gotten responsibilities  in  the  shape  of  a  bill  from 
Mrs.  Brabazon. 

It  was  accompanied  by  a  letter  which  she  read 
first :  an  apology  for  troubling  her,  and  an  appeal 
for  immediate  payment  of  the  money  due.  Her 
daughter  Doris  had  been  obliged  to  have  a  serious 
operation  and  was  now  in  a  nursing-home  in 
Churchampton.     She  was  reluctant  to  press  Miss 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  215 

Hasard,  but  the  bill  had  been  running  on  for  over 
two  years,  and  she  would  be  obliged  if  she  would 
make  it  convenient  to  pay  her  as  soon  as  possible.. 

"As  soon  as  possible T'  And  Desiree  did  not 
possess  a  five-pound  note ! 

With  trembling  fingers  she  took  up  the  bill  and 
unfolded  it,  afraid  to  look  at  the  amount  at  its  foot. 

It  totalled  £198.  She  let  it  fall  into  her  lap 
with  a  little  cry  of  dismay. 

"Impossible!  Quite  impossible!"  she  cried, 
with  suddenly  whitened  lips.  11  ow  could  the  few 
little  things  she  had  got  mourt  up  into  such  a 
sum!  She  snatched  up  the  bill  to  look  at  it  again. 
There  must  be  some  mistake.  Mrs.  Brabazon 
must  have  included  her  London  outfit  in  it.  She 
knewher  mother  had  paid  for  that.  .  .  .  Mother 
hated  to  let  bills  run  on.  .  .  . 

The  items  were  relentlessly  set  down.  The 
frocks  and  frills  for  her  visit  were  not  among  them : 
but  here  were  half-forgotten  fripperies  ordered 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment:  all  the  accessories 
which  seem  to  cost  more  than  the  gowns  them- 
selves; silk  stockings,  suede  shoes,  lingerie,  para- 
sols, corsets,  petticoats,  gloves,  hats.  No.  There 
was  no  mistake.  She  had  had  all  these  things,  but 
she  never  dreamed  that  they  could  have  amounted 
to  so  much.  .  .  .  Then  there  was  Anne  Silke's 
bill  as  well.  She  had  not  paid  that  yet.  About 
twenty  pounds  still  remained  due  to  her,  perhaps 
more.  .  .  .     What  was  she  to  do? 

She  stood  appalled  on  the  brink  of  the  abyss 


2i6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

to  which  her  careless  feet  had  led  her.  She,  who 
prided  herself  on  her  fastidiousness,  her  punctilio 
in  dealing  with  those  beneath  her,  had  ordered 
clothes  to  the  amount  of  over  two  hundred  pounds 
for  which  she  had  not  two  hundred  pence  to 
pay!  .  .  . 

And  yet  it  must  be  paid.  How  could  she  keep 
a  woman  like  Mrs.  Brabazon  out  of  her  money? 
The  extras  she  had  had  must  have  been  paid  for 
out  of  Mrs.  Brabazon 's  own  pocket.  Her  cheeks 
burned  at  the  thought.  Oh,  why,  why,  had  she 
been  such  a  fool!  Why  had  not  Mrs.  Brabazon 
sent  in  her  bill  sooner?  Why  had  she  let  it  run 
on  to  such  monstrous  proportions?  It  was  un- 
fair of  her.  She  should  have  made  some  protest, 
and  opened  Desiree's  eyes  earlier  to  the  path  she 
was  treading.  Yes,  she  blamed  Mrs.  Brabazon 
bitterly.  She  had  no  right  to  let  the  bill  run  on 
like  that. 

In  the  shock  of  the  revelation  she  could  see  no 
other  point  of  view  than  her  own. 

Two  hundred  pounds!  No  crock  of  gold  at 
the  rainbow's  foot  was  ever  more  unattainable! 
.  .  .  And  her  mother,  the  only  one  who  could 
possibly  help  her,  was  seriously  ill,  and  must  on  no 
account  be  worried.  .  .  .  She  felt  like  a  trapped 
animal,  seeing  no  way  of  escape. 

To  whom  could  she  appeal.  Lord  Garry  was  in 
Russia,  but  even  if  he  had  been  available  she  could 
not  ask  him  for  money.  Every  instinct  rejected 
the  idea. 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  217 

Jeremy  ?  Jeremy !  Never !  She  thought  of 
how  his  face  had  changed  and  hardened  that  day 
when  he  spoke  of  his  father's  first  wife,  the  fooHsh, 
frivolous  creature  who  had  frittered  away  his 
patrimony.  What  was  it  he  had  said?  The 
words  sprang  across  her  vision  as  if  they  had 
been  burnt  on  her  brain, 

' '  I  suppose  no  woman  deliberately  means  to  steal 
when  she  orders  things  she  can't  pay  for,  but  it's 
theft  all  the  same.  Dishonesty  is  the  meanest,  most 
sordid  of  vices.  For  me,  those  whom  I  can't  trust 
cease  to  exist.  They  are  snuffed  out  of  my  life  like 
a  candle-flame." 

She  had  felt  a  pang  of  premonition  when  she 
had  heard  them,  not  realizing  that  they  had 
stored  themselves  in  some  receptive  brain-cell  to 
leap  out  upon  her  later.  No,  Jeremy  must  never 
know.  It  was  the  one  thing  he  would  not  forgive. 
"Dishonesty,  the  most  sordid  of  vices." 

But  she  had  not  meant  to  be  dishonest.  .  .  . 
She  shivered  and  hid  her  burning  face  in  her  hands 
as  she  remembered  how  she  had  advanced  that 
plea  for  the  other  woman,  and  what  Jeremy  .had 
answered.  He  had  called  it  "the  paltriest  of 
excuses."  ,  .  .  No,  Jeremy  must  never  know  how 
weak,  how  foolish  she  had  been.  She  could  not 
bear  to  be  shut  out  of  his  life  just  when  it  had 
opened  to  enclose  her  within  it  for  ever.  If  she 
were  snuffed  out  of  his  heart  like  a  can-^ie-flame 
life  would  lose  all  its  meaning,  all  its  colour.  She 
might  just  as  well  die.     She  would  die,  she  felt 


2i8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

sure,  with  all  youth's  pathetic  belief  in  the  fatality 
of  loss  of  love. 

It  was  characteristic  of  their  relations  that  the 
last  person  to  whom  she  thought  of  applying  was 
her  father.  Like  most  young  people  she  had 
never  worried  her  head  about  financial  affairs. 
She  had  taken  things  for  granted.  She  had 
everything  she  wanted,  and  when  she  occasionally 
cried  for  the  moon  or  its  equivalent  her  mother 
had  miraculously  got  it  for  her.  She  had  always 
obeyed  the  tenet.  ''Your  father  must  not  be 
worried" — to  the  very  letter.  She  never  con- 
nected him  with  money  or  its  management. 
It  was  Lady  Brigid  who  had  held  the  purse-strings, 
to  whom  everyone  went  in  their  more  mundane 
needs. 

She  thought  of  him  now,  but  it  was  as  the  drown- 
ing man  who  catches  at  a  straw.  It  seemed  a 
forlorn  hope,  but  perhaps  he  would  be  able  to  help 
her.  She  knew  that  he  would  at  once  see  the 
pressing  human  side  of  it,  the  injustice  of  keeping 
a  woman  in  need  out  of  the  money  she  had  earned, 
but  would  he  be  able  to  help  in  a  practical  way? 
...  It  was  a  shame  to  worry  him,  especially 
now,  but  what  was  she  to  do?  .  .  .  Suddenly  a 
thought  smote  her.  Would  he  be  angry  with  her  ? 
He  had  never  been  angry  with  her  in  his  life.  .  .  . 
She  could  not  imagine  him  angry  now,  somehow, 
when  t^/^  one  thing  that  mattered  was  that  her 
mother  should  get  better.  No,  he  would  not  be 
angry.     He  would  be  grieved,  disappointed  in 


The  Feet  of  Nemesis  219 

her,  which  would  be  far  worse.  Anger  she  could 
bear :  it  was  the  just  need  of  her  folly,  but  to  see 
pained  disappointment  in  the  eyes  that  had  always 
looked  loving  indulgence  would  cut  her  to  the 
heart.  Dimly  she  began  to  see  that  no  one  can 
do  wrong  and  alone  suffer  the  consequences.  All 
those  she  loved  best  had  to  be  hurt  by  what  she 
had  done.  She  could  not  bear  it  alone:  others 
must  suffer  too.  She  felt  a  wave  of  humiliation 
that  it  should  be  so :  the  first  pang  of  real  repent- 
ance. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  bracing  herself  to  meet 
the  inevitable.  She  would  confess  her  folly  to  her 
father  and  beg  him  to  forgive  her.  She  would 
bear  anything,  suffer  anything  ...  so  long  as 
she  need  not  tell  Jeremy. 

She  rose  and  with  lagging  steps  and  quickly 
beating  heart  went  to  the  study-door  and  knocked, 
bill  in  hand. 


CHAPTER  XVII 


CLEAN  HANDS 


The  Rector  was  sitting  by  the  table,  head  on 
hand,  as  she  entered.     He  looked  up  quickly. 

"Any  news?"     It  was  his  invariable  question. 

"She  was  alseep  when  I  was  in  last,"  Desiree 
answered.  "Her  temperature  had  gone  down  a 
point  when  nurse  last  took  it." 

"Ah,  that's  good,  "  he  gave  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 
"How  endless  the  days  seem !  I  miss  her  at  every 
turn.     I  am  always  wanting  her." 

"Poor  Daddy!"  Desiree  drew  a  stool  forward 
and  sat  near  his  knee.  She  took  one  of  the  veined 
scholar's  hands  in  hers,  noting  with  a  fresh  pang 
how  thin  and  frail  he  looked,  how  suddenly  old. 

But  he  was  not  really  old.  Only  sixty.  No  one 
nowadays  was  old  at  sixty.  He  must  not,  should 
not  be  old !  .  .  .  And  here  was  she,  going  to  give 
him  infinite  pain  and  disappointment.  How 
could  she  do  it  ?  Where  was  she  to  begin  ?  How 
put  it  into  words  ? 

' '  I  had  a  letter  from  young  Wing  by  the  second 
post,"  the  beautifully  modulated  voice  went  on. 
"He  is  coming  down  at  once,  today.     He  wrote 

220 


Clean  Hands     >  221 

a  very  proper  letter,  full  of  sympathy  for  our 
trouble.  Like  everyone  else  he  loves  your  dear 
mother." 

"You  told  him  about  her?" 

"Yes.  I  wrote  him  a  friendly  letter.  I  like 
the  lad  and  admire  his  genius  beyond  words.  I 
told  him  that  you  were  back.  In  fact  I  said  that 
it  was  you  who  had  suggested  his  return  here." 

"Oh,  Daddy,  I  wish  you  hadn't!"  She  was 
sorry  the  moment  the  words  had  been  spoken,  but 
they  had  flashed  out  upon  one  of  her  old  impulses. 

"Why,  my  dear?  Surely  there  was  no  harm  in 
that?" 

"No — but — perhaps  he  will — think  that  I " 

Her  father  smiled  and  pinched  her  cheek.  * '  You 
are  hyper-sensitive,  my  D6de.  Young  Wing  is  a 
modest  lad.  He  would  never  misinterpret  your 
interest  in  his  art." 

"Oh,  wouldn't  he?"  thought  Desir^e,  with  a 
quick  revulsion  of  feeling.  She  had  intended 
only  kindness  towards  her  father  in  her  hasty 
suggestion.  Did  well-meant  impulses  always  re- 
coil upon  oneself,  she  wondered.  Human  rela- 
tionships were  very  puzzling  in  their  many  facts. 
One  never  knew  what  unexpected  aspect  might 
not  suddenly  flash  up  from  the  ordinary.  .  .  . 
Then  her  mind  swung  back  to  her  own  particular 
trouble,  the  dreadful  disturbing  confession  that 
she  had  to  make.     Leander  Wing  vanished. 

"I  had  a  letter,  too,  Daddy,  "  she  said  in  rather 
a  stifled  voice. 


222  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Had  you,  my  child?"  Gentle  interest  pene- 
trated his  tones. 

Desiree  plunged  incoherently.  "An  unpleasant 
letter.  A  dressmaker's  bill.  .  .  .  Daddy,  I've 
been  mad  .  .  .  idiotically  foolish  ...  it's  an 
awful  bill.  I — I  don't  know  how — "  her  voice 
trailed  away.  She  hid  her  burning  face  in  her 
hands. 

The  Rector  sat  up  at  her  faltering  words,  swiftly 
quickened  to  attention.  He  was  used  to  dealing 
with  the  penitent,  but  here  was  an  amazingly 
unexpected  one.  His  own  child.  His  little  girl. 
His  Dede.    Had  he  heard  aright  ?    Was  it  possible  ? 

"What  is  it?  Tell  me  all,  my  child.  Don't  be 
afraid."     The  priest  spoke  through  the  man. 

Tremblingly  she  told  him  all,  hiding  nothing, 
sparing  herself  nothing,  looking  up  humbly  at 
the  end  for  disillusionment  in  the  clear  eyes.  She 
saw  only  a  profound  sadness,  a  pained  wonder. 

"And  we  trusted  you,  Ded6, "  was  all  he  said. 

"I  know.  That's  the  worst,"  she  cried  on  a 
choking  sob.     "I  never  meant — I  never  realized." 

"Give  me  the  letter." 

She  gave  it  to  him.  He  read  it  through  in 
silence,  then  glanced  at  the  bill,  conscious  all  the 
while  of  an  intense  bewilderment  at  the  thought 
that  his  child,  Brigid's  child,  should  have  done 
this  incredible  thing:  that  she,  to  whom  nothing 
had  been  denied,  whom  they  had  loved  and  trusted 
and  indulged,  should  deliberately  have  deceived 
them  and  run  into  debt  for  over  two  hundred 


Clean  Hands  223 

pounds!  Why  had  she  not  come  to  them  sooner? 
Why  had  she  allowed  the  sum  to  assume  such 
gigantic  proportions?  Paid  it  must  be:  but  how? 
All  his  delicate  fastidiousness  revolted  from  the 
idea  of  owing  money  to  any  one,  but  to  trades 
people  above  all ! 

"Is  this  bill  correct,  Desiree?" 

"Yes,  Daddy."     Sobs  choked  her  utterance, 

"Does  your  mother  know  anything  about 
it?"' 

"No.  I  meant  to  tell  her  when  I  came  home, 
but — Oh,  please,  please  believe  that  I  was  horrified 
when  I  saw  how  much  it  was,  I  had  no  idea. 
I  thought  it  was  only  a  few  pounds,  and  that 
mother  would  lend  it  to  me,  and  that  I  could 
retrench,  and  pay  it  back  to  her  out  of  my  allow- 
ance,    I  never  dreamed  of  its  being  so  much." 

"I  suppose  not, "  her  father  answered  wearily. 
"Did  it  never  occur  to  you  how  gravely  you  were 
deceiving  us  in  running  into  debt  like  this.  Did  it 
never  occur  to  you  what  a  dishonest  thing  you 
were  doing  in  ordering  clothes  you  had  no  money 
to  pay  for  ? ' ' 

"Yes.  ,  .  .  No.  .  .  .  I  didn't  really  think 
much  about  it,  .  .  .  You  see,  I  didn't  know.  .  .  . 
I — I  used  to  pay  something  on  account  now  and 
then.  I  thought  it  was  all  right.  I  never  dreamed 
— I  didn't  mean  to  deceive  you.  Truly,  truly  I 
didn't.     You  must  believe  me,  Daddy." 

"Of  course  I  believe  you,  my  child.  I — only 
wonder.  ...     It   seems  inexplicable.  .  ,  .  How 


224  The  Beloved  Sinner 

have  we  failed  towards  you  that  you  should  do  a 
thing  like  this? 

"Oh,  you  haven't  failed.  You  haven't  failed. 
It's  I  who  have  failed!"  she  cried  passionately, 
flinging  herself  at  his  knees  and  crying  bitterly. 
"You  mustn't  blame  yourselves.  It's  all  my 
fault,  my  wicked  folly.  .  .  .  I  never  meant! — " 
the  words  choked  her.  Here  was  "the  paltriest 
of  excuses"  again! 

The  Rector  stooped  and  put  his  arms  round  her, 
soothing  her  as  if  she  were  indeed  the  child  she 
seemed  to  him.  "Don't  cry,  my  darling,  don't 
cry.  There,  there.  We'll  think  what's  best  to 
be  done.  .  .  .  That  poor  woman  must  be  paid  at 
once,  of  course.  .  .  .     Oh,  if  only  your  mother!" 

"Mother  would  manage  everything,"  sobbed 
Desiree.  "I  know  she  would  lend  me  the  money 
and  I  could  pay  it  back  by  degrees." 

"There  is  no  question  of  lending  between  paretit 
and  child.  What's  ours  is  yours.  Our  good 
name  is  mutual.  It  mustn't  be  tarnished  by 
debt.  We  stand  or  fall  together,  we  three.  .  .  . 
That's  what  fatherhood  and  motherhood  mean, 
my  Dede.  If  you  had  realized  that,  you  would 
have  come  to  us  at  once,  wouldn't  you? " 

"Yes,  "  murmured  Desiree,  feeling  very  humble, 
very  young,  and  withal  very  ignorant  of  the  big^ 
vital  forces  of  life.  Here  was  another  side  of 
love,  all-pervading,  all-protective,  which  she  had 
taken  carelessly  for  granted  all  her  days  without 
in  the  least  realizing  its  magnitude.     Her  heart 


Clean  Hands  225 

swelled.  "What  can  I  do  to  show  you  how  very 
sorry  I  am?"  she  whispered  childishly. 

"There  is  One  whom  you  have  sinned  against 
more  than  your  earthly  parents,"  murmured 
her  father,  with  that  curious  shyness  which  he 
experienced  only  when  touching  upon  religion 
with  this  one  loved  child  of  his.  "Ask  His  for- 
giveness, my  Dede.  .  .  .  Now  leave  me  while 
I  think  how  to  pay  this  money.  ...  If  only 
your  mother  were  accessible  it  would  be  all  right, 
but  she  must  not  be  worried  on  any  accoimt. 
She  told  me  lately  that  she  had  changed  some 
investments  with  the  most  happy  result.  She 
gave  me  a  donation  towards  the  screen,  as  a 
thank  offering,  she  said." 

' '  She  told  me  too,  and  sent  me  ten  pounds.  .  .  . 
She  is  wonderful." 

"She  is  indeed."  He  called  Des^ree  back  as 
she  turned  to  go.  * '  You  have  told  me  all  ?  There 
are  no  more  revelations  ? " 

Desiree  shook  her  head.  "There  are  only  the 
two  bills,  Mrs.  Brabazon's  and  the  woman  in 
London,  who  hasn't  sent  hers  yet." 

"Write  to  her  today  and  ask  for  it." 

"Yes.  I'll  write  at  once."  She  reached  the 
door  and  hesitated  as  she  tiimed  the  handle. 
Her  father  had  asked  if  there  were  any  further 
revelations.  Now  was  the  moment  to  tell  him 
about  Jeremy.  Then  her  newly-found  soul  would 
feel  clean-washed  of  even  the  shadow  of  deceit. 
She  came  back  towards  the  figure  in  the  chair. 

IS 


226  The  Beloved  Sinner 

It  seemed  to  her  that  his  shoulders  were  more 
bent,  his  figure  shrunken  from  its  former  proud 
bearing.  Was  it  she  who  had  done  this?  Her 
heart  ached  and  her  throat  swelled. 

' '  Daddy,  there  is  something  more, ' '  she  faltered. 

He  looked  up  apprehensively.  The  expression 
in  his  eyes  cut  like  a  knife,  though  it  held  no 
reproach,  no  rancour.     She  winced. 

"It's  nothing  unpleasant  this  time,"  she  went 
on  quickly.  "It's  only — only — that  there  is  a — a 
man  who  wants  to  marry  me." 

Blank  amazement  chased  the  sadness  from  his 
eyes.     Here  was  a  revelation  indeed ! 

"To  marry  you?  But  you're  only  a  child, 
Desiree!"  He  could  not  vision  her  a  woman, 
desirable  of  men.  To  him  she  was  still  the  golden- 
haired  child,  fruit  of  his  love  and  Brigid's. 

"I'm  twenty-one,"  she  said,  smiling  through 
her  tears. 

"Twenty-one!  I  had  not  realized  it.  .  .  . 
Who  is  this  man,  my  child,  and  do  you  want  to 
marry  him?" 

"Above  all  things,  "  she  answered. 

The  note  in  her  voice  told  him  that  she  was 
indeed  a  woman.     He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Come  and  tell  me  about  him." 

As  in  bygone  childish  days  he  took  her  on 
his  knee,  and,  with  his  worn  cheek  resting 
against  her  round  one,  listened  to  the  story 
that  is  at  once  the  oldest  and  the  newest  in  the 
world.  .  .  . 


Clean  Hands  227 

"Are  you  pleased  about  it?"  she  whispered 
at  the  end. 

"Pleased  at  an  act  of  piracy  and  highway 
robbery  ? "  he  echoed,  with  a  flash  of  his  old  gentle 
humour.  ' '  No,  but  I  am  happy  in  your  happiness, 
my  Dede.  Tell  your  Dick  Turpin  to  come  and 
see  me  when  this  shadow  has  been  lifted  from  us." 

She  kissed  him  and  went  to  begin  her  daily 
letter  to  Jeremy  with  a  lighter  heart  than  she 
thought  she  could  own  an  hour  ago.  .  .  .  Who 
could  not  believe  in  the  unbounded  goodness  of 
God  when  a  human  father  could  be  so  loving  and 
forgiving?  .  .  . 

The  Rector  sat  motionless  for  a  long  time  after 
Desiree  had  left  him.  The  little  angels  in  the 
triptych  looked  sweetly  down  at  him  from  their 
golden  background,  but  he  never  glanced  at  them. 
The  sight  of  them  usually  gave  him  intense  plea- 
sure, but  this  morning  his  thoughts  were  too  heavy 
to  lift  themselves  to  things  spiritual.  They  were 
weighed  down,  groping  about ' '  the  root  of  all  evil. ' ' 
He  felt  oddly  tired  and  shaken.  His  mind  seemed 
to  have  become  disorganized  in  the  sudden  jolt- 
ing from  his  groove  of  contentment.  More  than 
ever  he  longed  for  his  wife.  Troubles  always 
disappeared  when  he  took  them  to  her.  Tangles 
smoothed  themselves  out  at  her  unfailing  smile, 
and  her — "Well,  now,  let's  see  what  we  can  do ! " 

If  only  he  heard  the  familiar  sentence  now  in  the 
dear  soft  voice  all  would  be  well.  The  jumbled 
pieces  of  his  puzzle  would  fit  themselves  together 


228  The  Beloved  Sinner 

into  a  coherent  whole.  When  would  that  be? 
Her  illness  seemed  endless.  It  appeared  to  have 
gone  on,  to  be  continuing  throughout  eternity, 
not  time.  He  felt  lost,  disintegrated,  without 
her.  He  had  never  realized  how  entirely  he  leaned 
upon  her  until  this  shock  about  Desiree  opened 
his  eyes. 

How  was  he  to  cope  with  the  matter?  What 
was  he  to  do  ?  Borrow  the  money  from  the  bank? 
He  doubted  very  much  if  Mr.  Masters  would  lend 
him  two  hundred  pounds  on  the  very  slight 
security  he  had  to  offer.  Perhaps  if  he  went  to 
him  and  made  a  personal  matter  of  it,  but  he  hated 
asking  favours.  He  had  never  asked  a  favour  of 
any  one  in  his  life.  He  conferred  favours.  He 
did  not  solicit  them.  His  " lilies-of-the-field " 
theory  fell  away  from  him  and  failed  him  now. 
It  would  take  a  very  profound  act  of  faith  to 
evolve  two  hundred  pounds  out  of  nothing,  or  to 
assume  that  Desiree's  bills  would  be  paid  with 
anything  but  actual  coin  of  the  realm. 

Paid  they  must  be.  Every  hour  that  failed  to 
do  so  was  a  further  hour  of  dishonesty.  He  had 
owed  no  man  anything  all  his  life.  Debt  was  pe- 
culiarly abhorrent  to  him.  One  could  not  have 
clean  hands  with  debt,  and  clean  in  every  fibre  he 
had  always  been.  Strange  that  his  child  should 
not  have  inherited  this  fastidious  repugnance. 
But  she  was  only  a  child  in  spite  of  her  twenty- 
one  years  and  her  lover.  She  had  not  thought. 
She  had  tripped,  blindfolded  by  her  carelessness. 


Clean  Hands  229 

along  that  miry  path,  not  realizing  to  what  a  slough 
it  led.  She  would  be  wiser  in  future.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  him  to  exact  any  promise  from  her 
to  that  end.  He  trusted  her,  trusted  to  her  race 
and  instincts,  in  spite  of  the  rough  shaking  he  had 
got.  .  .  . 

Wearily  his  mind  spun  round  to  the  money 
problem  again.  How  was  he  to  get  it,  and  where? 
If  he  could  only  put  his  pride  in  his  pocket  and 
go  to  the  bank.  He  knew  that  the  loan  would  be 
only  for  a  few  weeks,  tmtil  Brigid  was  well  enough 
to  be  troubled  with  mundane  things  again.  She 
would  sell  out  some  of  her  securities.  ...  It 
was  merely  a  matter  of  form.  He  would  go  and 
see  Mr.  Masters.  It  would  not  be  much  of  a 
favour,  after  all.  .  .  . 

As. he  was  nerving  himself  to  this  decision  his 
eye  fell  upon  a  pile  of  letters  under  a  bronze  lotus 
paper-weight.  The  topmost  one  bore  an  un- 
familiar stamp  with  a  Russian  postmark.  He 
drew  it  absently  out  from  under  the  lotus-cup. 
It  was  Lord  Garry's  letter  enclosing  the  promised 
cheque  towards  the  screen.  Mechanically  he 
opened  the  envelope  and  drew  it  out.  It  was 
filled  in  for  £250  and  was  made  payable  to  him, 
Noel  Hasard.  If  he  were  going  to  the  bank  he 
might  as  well  sign  it  and  pay  it  in  to  the  Restora- 
tion Fund,  whither  Brigid's  five  pounds  had  al- 
ready gone.  He  went  to  his  desk,  cheque  in 
hand,  and  signed  it,  looking  at  the  clear  familiar 
signature  as  if  he  had  never  seen  it  before. 


230  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Suddenly  an  idea  came  to  him.  If  Lord  Garry 
were  here  he  might  have  borrowed  the  money 
from  him  instead  of  from  the  bank.  Why,  there- 
fore, not  borrow  by  proxy  as  it  were?  Pay  this 
cheque  into  his  own  account  and  use  it  until 
Brigid  was  well  enough  to  settle  the  matter?  He 
knew  that  Ludlow  Garry  would  willingly  lend 
him  the  money  if  he  asked  him  but  there  lay  the 
crux. 

Would  he  ask  him?  Deep  in  his  inmost  heart 
he  knew  that  he  would  not.  Yet  why  not?  He 
was  Brigid's  kinsman  and  Desiree's  godfather.  A 
generous  man,  if  completely  worldly;  a  man  who 
took  broad  views.  He  could  have  no  possible 
objection  to  his,  Noel  Hasard's,  borrowing  for  a 
week  or  two  the  money  he  had  sent  for  another 
purpose.  The  screen  was  not  yet  finished.  The 
money  would  only  be  lying  fallow  in  the  bank. 
He  would  calculate  the  amount  of  interest  that 
might  accrue  in  the  interval  and  double  it.  No 
one  would  be  at  a  loss,  and  the  Fund  would  indeed 
be  the  gainer.  Above  all,  he  need  ask  no  favours. 
His  sensitive  spirit  shrank  at  the  thought  of  going, 
hat  in  hand,  to  Mr.  Masters,  good  fellow  as  he 
undoubtedly  was.  He  hated  being  involved  in 
money  matters. 

Ludlow  Garry  would  be  the  first  to  understand 
when  he  told  him :  if  indeed  there  were  any  neces- 
sity for  telling  him.  The  money  would  be  paid 
into  the  Restoration  Fund  long  before  his  return 
from  Russia,  and  he  need  say  nothing  about  it.  .  .  . 


Clean  Hands  231 

Then  he  checked  himself,  shocked  by  the  shadow 
of  deceit.  How  could  he  palter  with  the  thought 
of  concealment?  He  must  tell  Garry,  of  course. 
That  should  be  his  punishment  for  having  bor- 
rowed the  money  without  permission,  s  How  could 
he  keep  clean  hands  otherwise?  Of  course  he 
must  tell  him.     If  he  were  here  now.  .  .  . 

He  went  down  to  the  bank,  forgetting  all  about 
his  waiting  luncheon.  When  he  came  back  he 
gave  Desiree  a  cheque  for  £198.  He  looked  so 
white  and  tired  that  her  heart  smote  her  anew. 
She  said  nothing,  but  with  tears  in  her  eyes  stooped 
and  kissed  his  hand. 

He  looked  at  it  strangely  for  a  moment. 

* '  Yes,  it  is  clean, ' '  he  said  in  a  detached  way. 

She  wondered  what  he  meant. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


LEANDER  S    LOVE 


It  seemed  to  Desiree  as  if  her  visit  to  Frayne, 
with  its  brief  glimpse  into  the  Garden  of  Paradise, 
were  but  a  mirage.  Only  Jeremy's  daily  letters 
prevented  her  from  believing  it  all  to  have  been 
some  impossible  golden  dream.  Even  so,  it 
seemed  far  enough  removed  from  reaUty.  The  dark 
shadow  that  brooded  over  the  Rectory  blotted  all 
other  brightnesses  from  the  world. 

As  the  days  of  crisis  approached  everyone  stole 
about  the  house,  light  of  foot  as  they  were  heavy 
of  heart.  All  Bressy  came  daily  to  enquire,  im- 
portunate in  its  anxiety.  ... 

Lady  Brigid  talked  but  little.  It  seemed  an 
effort  to  her  to  speak.  On  the  afternoon  of  De- 
siree's  confession  she  opened  her  heavy  eyes  sud- 
denly and  said  to  the  girl : 

' '  I  hope  the  house  is  full  of  flowers  as  usual. " 

Desiree  was  startled.  Her  thoughts  had  wan- 
dered far  from  flowers.  ' '  Yes,  darling.  I  arranged 
them  freshly  yesterday. " 

"That's  right.  .  .  .  Flowers  are  the  thoughts 
of  God,"  she  murmured,  closing  her  eyes  again. 

232 


Leander's  Love  233 

Her  lashes  lay  darkly  on  the  flushed  sunken  cheeks. 
She  dropped  into  an  uneasy  sleep.   .    .    . 

Desiree  stole  away.  She  would  get  some  water 
to  refill  the  vases.  Flowers  were  thirsty  in  hot 
weather.  She  went  to  Jane's  pantry.  Instinc- 
tively she  put  out  her  hand  for  the  silver  milk-jug 
which  she  generally  used.  Her  mother  always 
laughed  at  what  she  called  her  expensive  tastes, 
saying  that  nothing  but  a  silver  jug  would  suit 
her  for  replenishing  the  vases!  Desiree  used  to 
answer  that  she  liked  it  because  it  had  such  a  nice 
pour! — but  she  knew  also  that  she  had  a  sensuous 
pleasure  in  the  lovely  shape  of  the  old  jug  and 
the  smooth  touch  of  the  thin  silver.  .  .  .  Now 
expensive  tastes  must  be  curbed.  Her  spirit 
walked  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  She  took  an 
ordinary  little  china  jug  instead  and  filled  it  at 
the  tap. 

In  spite  of  the  masses  of  roses  and  sweet-peas 
the  drawing-room  shared  the  general  emptiness  of 
the  house.  It  was,  to  all  outward  appearances, 
just  the  same  as  usual,  with  its  fresh  chintzes, 
its  few  but  beautiful  bits  of  old  furniture,  and  its 
general  air  of  gracious  restfulness :  but  something 
was  lacking. 

It  was  as  if  the  flowers  in  the  old  china  bowls  and 
clear  vases  had  been  artificial,  Desiree  thought :  as 
if  the  vital  essence  which  had  pervaded  the  place 
had  been  withdrawn,  leaving  a  dry,  unperfumed 
atmosphere  where  one  instinctively  expected  fra- 
grance. 


234  The  Beloved  Sinner 

She  went  to  the  chimney-piece  to  refill  a  vase  of 
drooping  pink  roses.  The  china  jug  was  inade- 
quate :  she  spilled  some  water. 

'  'Bother ! ' '  she  exclaimed  with  sudden  petulance. 
"The  best  is  always  best  in  the  end ! "  Then  she 
bit  her  lip  that  such  a  triviality  should  have  power 
to  annoy  her  in  the  midst  of  real  trouble.  After 
all  she  had  been  through  today  how  could  she  be 
upset  by  merely  spilling  some  water  ?  She  did  not 
realize  how  the  strain  of  the  past  days  had  frayed 
her  nerves :  how  the  suspense  in  which  she  lived, 
and  the  sudden  shock  of  Mrs.  Brabazon's  bill  had 
stnmg  her  up  to  a  very  high  tension .  It  was  with  a 
start  that  she  heard  the  door  open  behind  her  and 
Jane  announce: 

"Mr.  Wing!" 

She  turned  to  greet  him,  forgetting  latent  possi- 
bilities in  her  own  absorption,  but  stopped  half- 
way across  the  room.  The  moment  she  saw  him 
she  realized  what  she  had  done  when  she  had  sug- 
gested to  her  father  to  bring  him  back.  He  had 
misunderstood.  He  had  thought  that  it  was  she 
who  wanted  him.  She  read  the  belief  in  his  ra- 
diant glowing  face,  his  outstretched  hands,  his 
whole  tritmiphant  bearing.  His  queer  eyes  were 
wide  open  and  ablaze  with  the  passion  she  had 
seen  in  them  once  before.  He  almost  ran  towards 
her. 

"You  sent  for  me,  World's  Desire!"  he  cried. 
"And  I've  come.  You'll  never  send  me  away 
again,  will  you?" 


Leander's  Love  235 

She  shrank  back,  putting  out  both  hands  as  if  to 
fend  him  off.  She  knew  now  that  she  must  in- 
evitably hurt  him,  and  her  wearied  spirit  quailed 
before  the  necessity. 

"No,  no!"  she  cried.  "It  was  all  a  mistake. 
It  wasn't  I." 

"But  your  father  said — "  he  began,  the  light 
dying  from  his  face.  "He  told  me  that  it  was 
you  who  suggested  my  coming  back. " 

"Yes,  it  was  I,"  she  faltered,  "but  I  never 
meant  him  to  tell  you.  I  was  distressed  when  I 
heard  he  had  done  so.  I  was  afraid  you  might 
misunderstand." 

"I'm  afraid  I  did  misunderstand,"  he  returned 
slowly.  "I  thought  your  summons  could  mean 
only  the  one  thing. " 

"I'm  very,  very  sorry.  " 

"Then  you  didn't  want  me?" 

' '  No.     Not  personally. ' '     It  had  to  be  said. 

"Why  did  you  send  for  me,  then  ? " 

' '  I — it  was  my  father  who  put  the  idea  into  my 
head.  He  was  so  changed,  so  lost  to  all  interest 
in  the  shock  of  mother's  illness  that  I  would  have 
done  anything  to  rouse  him.  I  asked  about  the 
screen  and  he  said  you  had  told  him  it  was  getting 
on.  When  he  said  how  much  he  wished  that  you 
had  remained  here  so  that  he  could  see  its  pro- 
gress from  day  to  day  I  suggested  his  asking  you 
to  come  back.    That  was  all. " 

"So  that  was  all,"  he  said,  stiffening.  He 
seemed  to  tower  over  her.     "You  used  me.     You 


236  The  Beloved  Sinner 

used  me  just  to  gratify  a  whim  without  thinking 
of  the  cost  to  me. ' ' 

"Please  don't  be  angry,"  she  said,  suddenly 
sinking  into  a  chair.  She  felt  as  if  she  could  stand 
no  longer.  "I  didn't  mean  it  that  way.  I  had 
no  intention  of  using  you,  as  you  call  it.  It  was 
only " 

Suddenly  his  mood  changed  at  sight  of  her  white 
quenched  face.  With  one  of  his  swift  unexpected 
movements  he  dropped  on  his  knee  by  her  side 
and  took  her  hands  in  his  quite  gently. 

"After  all,  why  shouldn't  you  use  me?  I  am 
yours  to  use  as  you  will.  I  gave  you  the  right 
that  day  in  the  Bluebell  Wood  when  I  prostrated 
myself  before  you,  body  and  soul.  What  other 
use  have  I  but  to  be  of  service  to  you? " 

Desiree  straightened  herself,  flushing. 

"You  himiiliate  me,"  she  said  faintly.  "You 
give  me  so  much  while  I — can  give  you — nothing.  " 

"Nothing?"  he  echoed,  looking  deep  into  her 
eyes,  "Is  that  final?"  He  read  her  answer  before 
she  spoke.  He  dropped  her  hands  and  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

She  bent  her  head.  "Nothing  but  my  friend- 
ship, and  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  care  for  that, " 
she  said  humbly.  She  wats  learning  the  lessons 
of  womanhood  very  quickly. 

He  wheeled  to  the  window  and  stood  looking 
out  for  a  moment  with  unseeing  eyes. 

' '  Is  there  another  man?  "  he  shot  at  her,  without 
turning  round. 


Leander's  Love  237 

"Yes." 

He  thrust  his  clenched  hands  into  his  pockets 
with  a  curious  fierceness.  His  shoulders  hunched 
up  to  his  ears.  Desiree  drew  a  long  breath  of  dis- 
tress at  sight  of  the  stiff  implacable-looking  back. 
Suddenly  he  turned  round  and  dropped  on  his 
knees  by  her  side  once  more,  burying  his  face  in 
her  lap. 

"Give  me  anything  you  will — stones  for  bread, 
friendship  for  love,  crumbs  for  a  feast — and  I'll 
try  to  be  grateful, "  he  murmured  hoarsely. 
"After  all,  you've  given  me  the  light  and  colour, 
the  passion  and  the  despair  of  love,  and  now  you've 
set  my  worship  high  in  the  starry  girdle  of  the 
spheres.  I'll  adore  from  afar,  as  better  men  than 
I  have  had  to  do.  Your  stones  shall  be  pearls — 
a  splendid  tear  for  me  in  each ! " 

A  lump  rose  in  Desiree's  throat.  Her  eyes 
dimmed.  She  put  a  gentle  hand  on  his  head, 
smoothing  back  the  unruly  red  locks  with  that 
mother's  touch  which  true  women  give  even  to 
their  lovers. 

"I'm  terribly  sorry  if  I've  hurt  you, "  she  said 
very  low.  "Please  forgive  me,  and  believe  that 
I  didn't  mean  it.  I  know  that's  no  real  excuse, 
but  it's  my  only  one.  "     Her  voice  trembled. 

He  rose  again  and  taking  her  face  between  his 
hands  kissed  her  gently  on  the  forehead. 

"I  kiss  you  as  my  saint, "  he  said  in  his  queer 
abrupt  way. 

His  eyes  glowed  with  the  fire  of  renunciation. 


238  The  Beloved  Sinner 

He  was  swung  to  high  exaltation  in  this  new  phase 
of  his  passion — its  enshrinement  among  the  glo- 
rious hopeless  loves  of  romance.  He  visioned  him^ 
self  a  Dante,  a  Cino  da  Pistoia,  as  he  paced  the 
long  cool  room,  jerking  out  abrupt  sentences  as 
he  went. 

"After  all,  you've  given  me  something  else  I 
didn't  enumerate.  Twenty-four  hours  of  such 
iridescent,  magical  madness  as  few  men  know, 
'Great  hopes,  gold-armoured — '  God,  they  kept 
me  company  to  this  very  door !  .  ,  .  Don't  tell 
me  about  the  other  man.  I  couldn't  bear  it. 
I'd  see  red  if  I  saw  him,  or  heard  you  speak  of 
him.  .  .  .  Tame  your  beast  to  his  new  ways. 
...  Be  gentle  with  me  till  I  cool.  ...  I  tell 
you  I  am  on  fire  here.  .  .  .  Here!"  He  struck 
his  heart. 

Desirfee  lay  back  in  the  chair,  numb  as  she 
watched  him.  She  was  incapable  of  further  feeling 
now.  All  her  emotions  had  been  drained  from  her 
by  the  events  of  the  day.  She  felt  as  if  she  were 
looking  on  at  something  that  was  not  really  hap- 
pening: as  if  Leander  Wing  and  his  picturesque 
ravings  were  part  of  a  dream  from  which  she  would 
presently  awaken.  It  was  a  curious  echo  of  her  at- 
titude on  that  long-ago  day  in  the  Bluebell  Wood. 
Now,  as  then,  he  had  no  power  to  strike  a  respons- 
ive chord. 

At  last  he  stopped  in  his  pacings  and  anchoring 
near  her  became  suddenly  ordinary. 

"I  am  a  brute  to  worry  you  like  this  when  you 


Leander's  Love  239 

are  in  such  trouble.  It  seems  so  strange  to  think 
of  Lady  Brigid  being  ill.  She  was  the  mainspring 
of  everything  here,  wasn't  she?  " 

"Yes,"  answered  Desiree  with  quivering  lips. 

"I  saw  Mrs.  Howard  on  the  hill, "  he  went  on. 
* '  She  told  me  that  she  was  doing  well. ' ' 

* '  They  come  in  shoals.  Jane  is  tired  of  opening 
the  door.  Sometimes  they  insist  on  seeing  me. 
They  mean  well,  but  I  wish  they  didn't.  " 

' '  The  most  boring  people  in  the  world  are  those 
who  mean  well.  Why  don't  you  put  a  daily 
bulletin  on  the  door,  and  then  people  would  read 
it  and  go  away  without  knocking?" 

"What  a  good  idea!  I  never  thought  of  that. 
But  I'm  afraid  Daddy  wouldn't  like  it.  He  would 
think  it  discourteous. " 

"Don't  say  anything  about  it  and  he'll  never 
notice  it." 

The  truth  of  this  statement  brought  a  smile 
to  Desiree's  lips. 

*  *  Ah ,  now  I've  made  you  smile !  That  ought  to 
be  accounted  to  me  for  righteousness.  .  .  .  You're 
tired  out,  you  little  golden  thing!  .  .  .  Why 
isn't  your  man  here  to  take  care  of  you?"  Then 
an  incredible  thought  smote  his  wild  brain. 
"My  God,  it  isn't  possible  that  he  doesn't 
care?" 

"No,  no.  He — cares  as  much  as  I  do,"  De- 
siree answered  quickly,  trying  to  choose  the  words 
that  would  hurt  least.  "But  this  is  no  time  for 
him  to  come  here.     He  only  knows  me,  you  see.  " 


240  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I  may  come?  You  won't  deny  me?"  Lean- 
der  cried  hastily. 

"Yes.  You  may  come  sometimes.  .  .  .  You're 
being  very  good  to  me  now. " 

"  I  'm  a  human  being,  after  all, ' '  he  said.  * '  Can't 
you  be  a  human  being  too  and  call  me  Leander 
once  in  a  while?  It  wouldn't  hurt  you  and — it 
would  be  a — crumb  for  me! " 

"Poor  Leander!" 

"Rich  Leander!"  he  said,  throwing  back  his 
head.  "In  having  you  just  now  I'll  have  some- 
thing that  he'll  go  lacking  all  his  days." 

Desiree  had  a  swift  wish  that  Jeremy  should  not 
lack  this  particular  thing,  but  she  forebore  to  rob 
poor  Leander  of  his  crumb. 

"When  did  you  come? " 

"Just  now.  I  sent  my  things  to  Mrs.  Bolton's 
and  came  straight  here.  ...  I  couldn't  wait. 
.  .  .  The  'Great  Hope'  you  see  ..."  He 
checked  himself.  "I  met  that  old  ferret,  Mrs. 
Mawson,  on  the  way  up.  She  had  the  cheek  to 
accost  me  and  ask  what  I  had  done  with  Tessie 
Hart  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  such  damned  imperti- 
nence ?     Fogive  me. ' ' 

"What  are  you  supposed  to  have  done  with 
Tessie  Hart?"  The  episode  seemed  to  Desir6e 
to  belong  to  some  bygone  era. 

"That's  what  I  asked  her.  I  called  her  a 
foul-minded  old — well,  something  one  doesn't 
usually  call  a  lady,  but  she's  not  a  lady. 
She's    an    evil-minded    old    beast.      I    haven't 


Leander's  Love  241 

seen  Tessie  Hart  since  I  left  Bressy,  and  so  I 
told  her." 

"Did  she  believe  you?"  Was  it  possible  that 
she  could  ever  have  felt  even  a  prick  at  the  thought 
of  his  admiring  the  girl  ? 

"Obviously  not.   .    .    .     You  do,  don't  you?" 

"Of  course." 

With  this  final  crumb  of  her  trust  in  him  Leander 
Wing  took  himself  off,  more  sober  of  gait  than  in 
his  coming,  but  upborne  by  a  waft  of  that  exalta- 
tion which  is  the  meed  of  those  who  set  their  feet 
upon  the  upward  path  of  a  selfless  love.  Passion 
he  had  known:  desire  had  burned  within  him,  but 
this  was  something  absolutely  different:  some- 
thing which  might  ultimately  enshrine  his  love, 
as  he  put  it  in  his  romantic  way,  "in  the  starry 
girdle  of  the  spheres  "   .    .    . 

Desir6e,  too,  was  trying  to  mount  the  same  path 
in  these  days  of  trouble.  One  by  one,  she  was 
learning  to  shed  the  little  easy  selfish  ways  of  love 
which  were  all  she  had  given  her  world  in  her 
happy  spoilt  ^rlhood.  Pretty  ways,  caresses,  lit- 
tle attentions  and  appreciations  had  always  come 
without  effort  to  her  sunny  disposition,  but  now 
each  endless- seeming  day  made  fresh  demands 
upon  the  deeps  of  her  nature.  Patience,  courage, 
endurance,  hope:  each  was  called  upon  in  turn. 
Of  them  all  hope  answered  most  readily.  ' '  White- 
handed  Hope,"  the  gift  of  the  fabled  Pandora, 
lingering  to  the  last  in  poor  humanity's  casket  of 


242  The  Beloved  Sinner 

miseries,  and  striking  her  lyre  for  "grief's  best 
music"  while  yet  a  single  string  remains!  With 
her  flight  the  horizon  is  dark  indeed ! 

Desiree  was  her  father's  unobtrusive  shadow  in 
these  dragging  days  of  suspense.  She  read  to  him, 
while  he  sat  unheeding,  yet  unconsciously  soothed 
by  her  clear  young  voice ;  she  devised  occupations 
for  him,  coaxed  him  out  into  the  garden,  and 
simulated  enthusiasms  whicn  her  heavy  heart 
was  far  from  feeling.  She  learned  when  to  leave 
him  to  the  solitudes  he  craved  and  when  to  be 
near  at  need.  She  sped  him  upon  his  parochial 
duties,  and  watched  over  his  comings  and  goings 
as  carefully  as  her  mother  could  have  done.  But 
it  was  hard  work.  Though  a  labour  of  love  it 
was  a  constant  strain,  and  the  girl  grew  thin  and 
pale  under  it.  She  never  thought  of  that  though. 
She  was  learning  to  give  where  she  had  hitherto 
taken.  Her  mother's  whispered  thanks  were  re- 
ward enough. 

"Your  father  says  you  are  wonderful,  my 
Dede, "  she  murmured  once.  She  did  not  quote 
the  end  of  his  sentence — "but  she  is  not  you!" 
That  had  been  for  her  ear  alonel 

Lady  B  rigid  drifted  on  a  tide  of  semi-oblivion 
towards  the  time  of  crisis,  her  senses  dulled  to 
what  had  once  been  all-absorbing.  She  seemed 
to  come  back  to  reality  with  an  effort. 

Desiree  resented  this  gradual  detachment  with 
all  the  fierceness  of  love  and  youth.  Daily  she 
strove  against  it,  but  in  silence.     She  put  forth 


Leander's  Love  243 

all  the  powers  of  her  will  to  hold  her  back,  trying 
to  bind  her  to  earth  with  every  filament  of  love 
and  longing.  Outwardly  she  was  the  quietest, 
most  obedient  assistant  that  nurses  ever  had.  No 
one  guessed  at  the  fierce  passion  of  rebellion  which 
burned  within  her,  as  gradually  more  and  more  of 
her  mother  seemed  to  be  taken  from  her. 

She  had  no  outlet.  She  could  not  talk  of  her 
inmost  feelings  to  Molly  Howard  or  Gwen  Chal- 
loner  during  their  brief  visits.  They  were  outside, 
far  outside  the  core  of  her  narrowed,  absorbing 
world.  They  seemed  to  belong  to  a  past  era  of 
trivialities  in  which  nothing  that  had  mattered 
then  mattered  now. 

Even  her  letters  to  Jeremy  were  not  satisfying. 
He,  too,  seemed  to  belong  to  a  different  world. 
He  knew  nothing,  no  one  in  her  real  life.  Some- 
times she  could  not  properly  recall  his  face. 
Then  she  felt  as  if  she  had  indeed  lost  him.  It 
seemed  as  if  they  had  been  rapt  apart  to  dwell 
in  different  planets.   .    .    . 

One  sultry  afternoon  in  the  end  of  July  she  came 
out  of  her  mother's  room  with  a  heavy  heart,  leav- 
ing her  flushed  and  in  a  drowse  of  semi-conscious- 
ness. It  hurt  her  to  see  her  like  that,  though  the 
moment  had  never  yet  come  when  Lady  Brigid  was 
too  far  away  to  murmur  "Yes,  my  chicken"  in 
response  to  some  whispered  appeal,  or  to  press  her 
hand  when,  as  she  said,  she  felt  too  lazy  to  talk. 

The  girl  w^andered  from  room  to  room  like  a 
little  restless  ghost,  at  last  finding  herself  in  her 


244  The  Beloved  Sinner 

mother's  den,  without  knowing  why  she  had 
strayed  there. 

There  was  something  aloof  and  chilHng  in  its 
aspect  of  formal  tidiness,  its  closed  desk,  its  unused 
air.  Desir6e's  heart  swelled  as  if  it  would  burst 
when  her  eyes  fell  upon  the  array  of  her  own 
photographs.  How  her  mother  loved  her !  What 
had  she  ever  done  to  repay  that  love?  Nothing, 
it  seemed  to  her  in  that  bitter  moment,  except 
take,  take,  take,  with  greedy  outstretched  hands. 
What  had  she  given  except  worry?  Her  white 
cheeks  flamed  at  the  remembrance  of  what  she  had 
done,  of  how  she  had  often  bothered  her  mother 
for  money  which  she  could  perhaps  ill  afford. 
That  point  of  view  had  never  struck  her  before. 
Had  she  ever  thought  of  anything,  of  anyone  save 
herself  ?  Her  eyes  opened  wide  upon  womanhood 
at  last.  She  was  a  careless  girl  no  longer.  In  her 
inmost  heart  she  knew  that  the  aching  smart  of 
her  conscience  would  never  be  eased  until  she  had 
made  full  confession  to  the  mother  she  adored  and 
had  wilfully  deceived.  Yes,  now  that  she  saw  with 
clearer  vision,  she  knew  that  she  had  deliberately 
deceived  Lady  Brigid,  postponing  the  day  of  con- 
fession until  too  late. 

Not  too  late  for  ultimate  forgiveness,  though. 
She  must  wait  as  best  she  could  until  the  fever  had 
abated,  until  the  dear  invalid  was  really  well 
again.  She  would  risk  nothing.  But  to  the  im- 
patience of  youth  waiting  is  hard.  Desiree  felt 
that  she  would  give  her  very  heart's  blood  for  her 


Leander's  Love  245 

mother,  and  all  she  could  do  was  to  stand  aside 
while  strangers  ministered  to  her.  The  intrusion 
of  strange  women  upon  the  intimacy  of  their  home- 
life  irked  the  privacy-loving  Hasards  more  than 
any  one  suspected.  Desiree  longed  for  the  day 
when  she  would  have  her  mother  once  more  to  her- 
self, when  life  would  be  real  and  normal  again, 
not  a  nightmare  of  suspense  and  watching.  .  .  . 
When  would  it  be? 

Doctor  and  nurses  were  placid  and  non-com- 
mittal. They  told  little,  spoke  in  guarded  sen- 
tences of  a  lack  of  complications,  of  slight  cardiac 
weakness,  of  some  deficiency  of  reserve-power,  and 
so  on.  Desiree  felt  very  helpless,  very  ignorant. 
The  age-old  resentment  of  love  versus  skill  welled 
anew  within  her.  These  hirelings  could  do  for  her 
mother  what  all  her  devotion  could  not.  She  felt 
grateful  for  that  even  while  she  rebelled. 

The  brooding  atmosphere  of  the  house  became 
suddenly  oppressive.  She  turned  from  the  table 
with  her  photographs  and  went  out  into  the  Yew 
Garden.  The  lavender-bushes  thrust  mauve-grey 
spikes  towards  her:  the  roses  round  the  French 
window  nodded  pink  blossoms;  the  lemon-scented 
thyme  on  the  flagged  path  gave  out  its  fragrance 
as  her  foot  touched  it,  but  she  walked  to  the  lily- 
pond  with  bent  head,  unseeing,  unheeding  all  save 
the  ache  in  her  own  heart. 

The  fat  red  carp  moved  lazily  beneath  the 
brown-tinged  leaves.  Here  and  there  great  water- 
lilies  opened  blossoms  of  silver  and  hearts  of  gold 


246  The  Beloved  Sinner 

to  the  sun.  All  round  her  the  clipped  chessmen 
stood,  black-green  and  stiff,  watching  as  they  had 
watched  the  ephemeral  griefs  of  short-lived  humans 
from  one  generation  to  another.  The  place  was 
redolent  of  Lady  Brigid.  It  was  here  that  Desiree 
could  see  her  most  clearly,  weeding,  transplanting, 
watering.  .  .  .  She  might  have  helped  her 
there.  She  had  never  done  so.  Could  she  ever 
make  up  for  all  her  shortcomings  ? 

With  a  heavy  heart  she  turned  to  leave  the 
haunted  place.  In  one  of  the  square  openings  of 
the  yew  hedge  stood  a  figure,  tall,  broad,  unbe- 
lievable: the  impossible  come  true! 

"Jeremy!"  she  cried,  stumbling  towards  him. 
In  a  moment  she  was  in  his  arms,  sobbing  as  if 
her  heart  would  break. 


CHAPTER   XIX 

JEREMY   ON    RUDDERS 

"You're  not  angry  with  me  for  coming?" 
"Angry?     Oh,  Jeremy!"     She  clung  closer  to 
him. 

"I  couldn't  stay  away  any  longer.  I  thought  I 
might  be  of  some  use  to  you  if  I  came,  run  messages 
or  something.  I  couldn't  bear  to  think  of  your 
going  through  it  all  alone."  His  hand  on  her 
hair  shook  a  little,  "I  should  have  come  long 
ago." 

With  a  blessed  sense  of  relief  Desiree  realized 
that  although  there  are  some  burdens  which  every- 
one must  bear  alone  there  are  few  which  are  not 
the  easier  to  carry  if  there  is  someone  to  lift  the 
other  end. 

"It  is  like  a  heavenly  dream  to  see  you. " 
"My  poor  little  girl,  has  it  been  very  bad? " 
' '  Very. ' '     Her  lips  quivered.     ' '  Please  don't  be 
too  good  to  me,  Jerry.     I  don't  want  to  make  a 
fool  of  myself  again.     Oh,  the  comfort  of  you!" 
"You're  overwrought  and  absolutely  unstrung, " 
he  said,  drying  her  tears  with  his  big  silk  handker- 
chief.    ' '  It  was  high  time  I  came  to  look  after  you. 

247 


24S  The  Beloved  Sinner 

The  days  have  been  endless  since  you  were  spirited 
away  from  me." 

"That's  how  I  felt  too,  as  if  you  had  been 
spirited  away. ' '  She  sighed  as  she  lay  against  him 
with  closed  eyes. 

"My  own  little  giri!" 

His  tenderness  warmed  and  comforted  her.  His 
presence  seemed,  as  before,  a  buttress  between 
her  and  the  outer  world.  He  wrapped  her  round 
with  a  love  that  was  eloquent  even  in  its  very 
silence.  She  was  content  to  rest  in  it,  drawing 
strength  from  it  as  from  a  deep  inexhaustible  well. 

"The  maid  told  me  you  were  in  the  garden.  I 
said  I'd  come  and  find  you.  I  had  almost  given 
you  up  when  I  caught  sight  of  this  little  secret 
pleasance  through  the  yew  hedge. " 

"You  were  here  and  I  didn't  know.  I  never 
felt  you. ' '     It  seemed  a  flaw  in  her  love  for  him. 

"You  feel  me  now,"  he  said.  "We're  still  in 
the  learning  stage.  We're  not  properly  welded 
yet.    Wait  until  we  are  really  one.  .  .  .     Desiree!" 

At  his  cry  their  lips  met.  All  their  lost  Paradise 
sprang  into  new  being  at  that  kiss.   .  .  . 

When  at  last  they  returned  to  earth  Jeremy 
spoke  again  of  his  coming. 

"I  hope  your  father  won't  think  me  intrusive, 
but  I  simply  couldn't  keep  away.  You  are  to 
make  use  of  me  in  any  way  you  can.  Nothing 
will  be  too  little  or  too  great  for  me  to  do  if  only 
it  spares  you.  Remember  I  am  yours  for  now  and 
always." 


Jeremy  on  Rudders  249 

Again  Desiree  felt  humbled.  Here  was  another 
offering  himself  for  her  use,  putting  himself  wholly 
at  her  service !  What  had  she  done  to  deserve  this 
outpouring  of  love?     How  could  she  repay  it? 

"Jeremy,  you  make  me  feel  very  small  and  un- 
worthy, ' '  she  whispered. 

"You?"  All  the  incredulous  wonder  of  his 
adoration  was  packed  into  the  one  word. 

"I'm  afraid  you  idealize  me  too  much,  my  own 
man.  I'm  very,  very  human,  full  of  flaws  and 
faults.  Look  out  for  them,  Jerry  dearest,  instead 
of  shutting  your  eyes  to  them.  Love  me  in  spite 
of  them,  or  perhaps  because  of  them,  and  I  shall 
feel  safer  and  happier. " 

"You  must  feel  as  safe  and  happy  as  possible, " 
he  said  with  an  obvious  humouring  of  her  dear 
folly  that  made  Desiree  want  to  cry  and  laugh  at 
once.  "From  this  day  forth  I  shall  be  Argus- 
eyed  in  my  search  for  your  flaws.  I  warn  you  that 
I  shan't  find  any,  though,  my  pearl  of  girls ! " 

"Jerry!      I'm  really  in  earnest,  though." 

"So  am  I.  .  .  .  What  an  enchanting  place 
this  is!"  he  said,  looking  round. 

* '  You  like  it  ?  It's  mother's  favourite  bit  of  the 
garden.  She  is  always  improving  it.  There  were 
no  flowers  in  it  before  she  came  here,  only  the 
chessmen  and  the  lily-pond.  I  think  it's  rather 
gloomy,  but  she  loves  it.  .  .  .  I'll  always  love 
it  now,  after  today,"  she  ended  with  a  swift 
upward  glance. 

"I  also, "  he  said.     "Come  sit  by  the  lily-pond 


250  The  Beloved  Sinner 

and  tell  me  things.  That  water-lily  looks  as  if 
she  would  be  a  good  chaperon." 

They  sat  side  by  side  on  the  grey  lichened  stone, 
hand  in  hand  like  children,  forgetful  of  possible 
witnesses,  in  their  newly  recaptured  joy. 

"Tell  me  about  your  mother.  The  maid  says 
she  is  going  on  fairly  well. " 

"Her  temperature  is  up  today,"  Desiree  an- 
swered. "Nurse  and  Doctor  Clements  don't 
seem  quite  so  pleased. " 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,  but  one  must  expect  these 
fluctuations  in  any  fever.  Are  you  on  the  tele- 
phone?" 

"No." 

"Then  how  do  you  get  at  the  doctor  at  night  ? " 

"We  haven't  been  obliged  to  send  for  him  at 
night  so  far. "     Desiree's  glance  held  quick  alarm. 

* '  But  how  would  you  get  him  if  you  happened  to 
want  him?"  Jeremy  persisted. 

"I — don't  know,"  Desiree  faltered.  "I  never 
thought  of  that.  There  isn't  any  one  to  send 
except  Cook  or  Jane.  Bunt,  the  gardener,  goes 
home  at  night.  I  suppose  we  could  keep  him  if 
it  were  necessary. " 

"Keep  me  instead.  There's  something  I  could 
do."  Jeremy  felt  that  he  had  come  to  Bressy 
none  too  soon  to  look  after  this  helpless  household. 

"But " 

' '  There  are  no  possible  buts, ' '  he  said  firmly.  ' '  I 
don't  want  you  to  have  a  room  made  up  for  me,  or 
any  bother  of  that  sort.     I've  left  my  bag  at  the 


Jeremy  on  Rudders  251 

*  Crown. '  Just  let  me  sit  up  in  one  of  the  sitting- 
rooms  for  the  next  few  nights.  Then  you  can  go 
to  bed  with  an  easy  mind  knowing  that  your 
errand-boy  is  on  the  premises. " 

"Jerry!"  She  gave  him  a  wonderful  look. 
'  *  How  do  you  think  of  things  ?  I  didn't  know  that 
men  could  be  so  thoughtful.  I  thought  one  had 
to — "  she  stopped  abruptly. 

"We're  queer  animals,"  Jeremy  returned,  "but 
we  have  our  uses.  My  present  mission  in  life  is 
to  save  you  trouble.     Kindly  remember  that.  " 

"Here's  Daddy,"  exclaimed  Desiree,  rising. 
"I  wonder " 

Her  face  was  flushed  with  excitement  as  she 
went  across  the  grass  to  meet  her  father  with 
outstretched  hands.  He  looked  more  alert  than 
he  had  done  for  days.  He  held  himself  with 
something  of  his  former  distinction  of  bearing,  the 
new  distressing  shoulder-droop  momentarily  cast 
off. 

"Your  mother  is  awake  and  wants  me, "  he  said. 
"Nurse  is  to  come  for  me  in  ten  minutes.  I 
thought  I  would  tell  you  lest  you  should  wonder 
where  I  was.  I  look  on  it  as  an  excellent  sign, 
don't  you?" 

"Splendid,  darling. "  Desiree  slipped  her  hand 
through  his  arm,  and  laid  her  hot  cheek  against  his 
shoulder.  ' '  Daddy,  this  is  Jeremy  Vyse,  the  man 
I  want  to  marry.     Be  nice  to  him.  " 

In  his  excitement  Noel  Hasard  had  scarcely 
noticed  the  stranger.     Now  he  looked  keenly  at 


252  The  Beloved  Sinner 

the  tall  young  man  who  wanted  to  marry  his 
child. 

He  held  out  his  hand.  The  result  of  his  scrutiny 
pleased  him.  Here  was  a  man  with  frank  eyes 
and  a  firm  mouth:  a  man  to  whom  one  might 
safely  entrust  a  woman:  no  boy  to  be  swayed  by 
any  follies  of  his  pretty  girl.  Brigid  would  like  him. 
It  was  almost  his  first  thought.  Only  since  her 
detachment  from  his  daily  life  had  he  realized  how 
intimately  she  was  bound  into  the  very  fibre  of  his 
being.     He  missed  her  at  every  turn. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you, "  he  said,  with  a  touch  of 
his  old  charm.  ' '  I  only  wish  that  we  could  have 
welcomed  you  under  happier  auspices.  But  you 
understand,  of  course. " 

"Of  course,  sir,"  answered  Jeremy.  "I  know 
that  this  is  not  a  time  to  intrude,  but  I  simply 
couldn't  stay  away  any  longer.  I  shan't  obtrude 
myself  on  you  in  any  way.  I  want  you  to  feel  that 
I  am  here  solely  to  be  of  use  to  you. " 

"Thank  you.  You  are  very  good.  You  will 
stay  here  of  course.  "  The  Rector  waved  all  pro- 
tests aside.  "No,  no,  it  is  no  trouble.  Desiree 
will  arrange  it  all.  Send  Bunt  for  Mr.  Vyse's 
things,  dear.  You  must  not  dream  of  staying 
anywhere  else.  My  wife  would  be  distressed — " 
he  broke  off. 

"She  mustn't  be  distressed  on  my  account.  If 
you're  sure 'it's  no  extra  trouble.  ..."  To  be 
under  one  roof  with  Desiree!  What  a  joy  that 
would  be !     "I  lost  my  father  when  I  was  quite  a 


Jeremy  on  Rudders  253. 

little  chap,"  Jeremy  went  on  boyishly.  "I 
should  feel  awfully  proud  if  you'd  try  to  look  on 
me  as  a  son,  sir." 

"I  had  grown  used  to  looking  upon  you  as  a 
highway  robber, "  said  the  Rector,  with  one  of  his 
rare  smiles.  "I  must  try  to  change  my  point  of 
view.  I'll  see  you  again  later,  but  I  must  go  to 
my  wife  now.  Nurse  is  beckoning  to  me. "  He 
turned  back  as  he  went.  "Dede,  I  had  a  letter 
from  Tom  Herring  by  the  second  post.  He  has 
paid  in  full.  Your  dear  mother  will  be  pleased  to 
hear  that." 

"She  will,"  Desiree  answered  a  little  flatly. 

"Who  is  Tom  Herring?"  asked  Jeremy,  as  Mr. 
Hasard  disappeared  through  the  French  window, 
more  to  distract  Desir6e's  attention  than  from 
any  curiosity. 

Desiree  told  him  the  sordid  little  story,  flushing 
at  the  shadow  of  resemblance  it  bore  to  her  own 
misdoing. 

' '  Silly  fool ! ' '  Jeremy  commented.  ' '  Like  many 
another  he  thought  the  intention  outweighed 
the  action." 

"And  doesn't  it?  .  .  .  Ever?"  asked  Desiree 
tentatively. 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  can't  believe  that  we're 
ever  forgiven  for  sin  or  even  folly  on  the  grounds 
of  lack  of  intention.  After  all,  we're  reasoning 
human  beings,  with  brains  and  will  and  heart. 
There  are  essential  rules  laid  down  which  we 
mustn't  transgress.     It's  no  excuse  for  us  if  we  do 


254  The  Beloved  Sinner 

so  without  meaning  to.  We  should  mean.  We 
should  control  our  actions,  our  impulses.  We're 
given  our  powers  of  reasoning  and  free  will  for  no 
other  purpose.  It's  as  if  one  deliberately  let  go 
a  rudder,  and  then  excused  oneself  for  allowing  the 
ship  to  dash  upon  the  rocks  by  saying  one  didn't 
mean  it!  We  all  have  rudders  if  we  care  to  use 
them.  We  must  use  them  if  we  mean  to  steer 
through  life  with  any  success. " 

"Yes,  I  quite  see  that,"  said  Desiree  slowly. 
"But  many  of  us  aren't  taught  how  to  use  our 
rudders.  Our  ships  are  steered  for  us  by  someone 
else.  When  we  are  set  adrift  by  ourselves  we 
sometimes  forget  that  we  own  a  rudder  until  our 
poor  little  bark  gets  into  trouble. " 

"We  don't  forget  after  that,"  Jeremy  smiled 
grimly.  "No  one  learns  anything  easily  I  sup- 
pose. But  I  wasn't  thinking  of  your  little  white- 
winged  yacht,"  he  said  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone.  ' '  I  was  thinking  of  the  older,  more  worldly 
prototypes  of  that  young  ass.  The  men  and 
women  who  drift  into  debt,  ordering  everything  in 
the  world  they  want  without  an  intention  of  paying 
for  it:  the  people  who  look  upon  gambling  debts 
as  debts  of  honour  and  think  nothing  of  owing  their 
trades  people  for  the  luxuries  or  even  the  necessities 
of  life.  What  is  a  debt  of  honour  if  not  the  latter 
I  should  like  to  know?  I  suppose  I'm  horribly 
old-fashioned,  bourgeois,  Judy  would  call  me,  but 
it's  a  subject  on  which  I  feel  very  strongly  indeed. ' ' 

Jeremy's  face  had  taken  the  stem  Hnes  once 


Jeremy  on  Rudders  255 

seen  and  only  half -forgotten.  What  would  he 
say  if  he  knew  of  her  transgression,  Desiree  won- 
dered. She  shivered  a  little  at  the  thought.  For 
the  moment  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  a  stranger  who 
sat  beside  her,  not  the  one  dear  man  whose  coming 
had  suddenly  warmed  her  world.  The  warmth 
cooled  a  little :  the  transient  brightness  of  the  day 
faded.  She  forced  herself  to  speak.  She  hoped 
that  he  had  not  noticed  the  instant's  pause  before 
her  answer. 

"That  is  how  my  father  and  mother  feel,  too. " 

"And  you?  Isn't  that  how  you  feel?"  He 
tried  to  look  into  her  averted  face. 

"Yes,  of  course,"  she  answered  tonelessly. 

Then,  with  a  passion  that  obliterated  the  faint- 
ness  of  her  avowal,  she  cried :  "  I  think  that  debt  is 
despicable !     Despicable ! " 

She  trembled  suddenly.  He  slipped  his  arm 
round  her.  In  the  secluded  garden  they  were  free 
from  observation.  She  leaned  against  him  and 
closed  her  eyes  again  upon  mundane  things. 

"Why  should  we  worry  ourselves  with  problems 
that  don't  concern  us?"  he  murmured.  "We  are 
together  once  more,  and  that's  all  that  matters, 
isn't  it?  .  .  .  How  splendid  your  father  is! 
No  wonder  you  are  proud  of  him.  " 

The  sun  shone  once  more:  the  world  warmed. 
They  were  together  again  and  that  was  all  that 
mattered,  as  he  had  so  truly  said.  He  need  never 
know  of  her  transgression.  After  all,  it  was  not 
a  sin  against  him.     It  had  all  happened  before  he 


256  The  Beloved  Sinner 

came  into  her  life.  She  need  not  wilfully  dethrone 
herself.     She  would  try  to  be  really  good  in  future. 

She  would  never  let  go  her  rudder  again.    .    .    . 

It  was  sweet  to  be  worshipped,  but  why  had  he 
set  her  upon  so  high  a  pinnacle  ?  It  was  delicious 
to  breathe  the  incense  of  his  adoration,  but  what 
if  he  found  that  his  idol  had  feet  of  clay? 

Desiree  glanced  down  at  her  little  white  shoes. 
They  were  of  clay,  in  her  figurative  use  of  the 
phrase.  They  were  literally  of  human  flesh  and 
bone,  prone  to  stumble,  prone  to  stray,  as  are  the 
feet  of  all  humanity  without  some  guiding  light 
to  direct  their  steps.    .    .    . 

"Look  at  what  I've  brought  you, "  Jeremy  was 
whispering  in  her  ear.  "The  outward  and  visible 
sign  of  the  inward  and  spiritual  grace  that  you  are 
mine,  mine,  mine!   ...     I  wonder  if  it  fits," 

Desiree  opened  the  little  white  velvet  case  to 
discover  a  magnificent  sapphire  ring. 

' '  Jerry !  How  exquisite ! ' '  she  breathed.  ' '  Sap- 
phires are  my  favourite  stones.  Please  put  it  on. " 
She  held  out  a  slim  white  hand.  "You  are  the 
very  dearest.   .    .    .  " 

"I  got  it  to  match  your  eyes, "  he  said  with  all 
the  dear  immemorial  unoriginality  of  lovers.   .    .    . 

Then  the  world  of  every-day  faded  for  a  little, 
and  once  more  two  wandered  in  that  garden  of 
Paradise  into  which  most  people  stray  from  the 
dusty  highway  of  life  at  least  once  in  their  al- 
lotted span. 


CHAPTER  XX 

AMARANTH   OR  ASPHODEL? 

For  two  nights  Jeremy  slept  at  the  Rectory  un- 
disturbed. On  the  third  Desiree  was  awakened 
from  broken  dreams  by  the  touch  of  a  hand  on  her 
shoulder.  She  started  up  to  find  the  night-nurse 
bending  over  her,  candle  in  hand. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried,  sleep  scattered  by  an 
instant  dread  that  left  no  room  for  any  other  feel- 
ing. 

"Lady  Brigid  is  not  so  well.  I  should  like  the 
doctor  to  see  her.  Can  you  send  for  him  at  once? 
I  have  called  Nurse  Maynard.  She  is  with  your 
mother." 

Desiree  sprang  out  of  bed.  "I'll  send  at  once. 
Mr.  Vyse  will  go,"  she  said,  scrambling  into 
dressing-gown  and  slippers.  "But  what  is  it? 
Is  she  worse  ?     Are  you — do  you ? ' ' 

"I  don't  like  her  look  at  all.  I  think  perhaps 
I  had  better  rouse  Mr.  Hasard  while  you  call  Mr. 
Vyse." 

"You  don't  think — "  a  fear  which  she  could  not 
put  into  words  pierced  Desiree's  heart. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  answered  the 
17  257 


258  The  Beloved  Sinner 

nurse  in  a  tone  quite  bereft  of  its  usual  brisk 
decision,  "I  only  know  that  we  should  both 
like  Dr.  Clements  to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible. " 

Desiree  ran  downstairs  to  Jeremy's  room,  with 
loudly  beating  heart.  In  the  chill  grey  dusk  of 
eariy  morning  the  familiar  loomed  unfamiliar. 
Shadows  lurked  everywhere.  The  well-known 
furniture  had  almost  an  inimical  look.  Her  foot- 
steps thudded  like  the  echo  of  her  heart-beats  on 
the  old  oak  stairs,  the  polished  landings,  and  the 
twisting  passages.  It  seemed  as  if  something  kept 
pace  with  her  which  she  coiild  not  outrun,  the 
blackest  of  all  the  shadows,  creeping,  growing, 
deepening.  .  .  .  She  felt  as  if  she  would  never 
reach  Jeremy's  door.  She  knocked.  The  sound 
seemed  to  echo  along  the  deserted  corridor.  She 
grasped  the  handle  of  the  door  to  find  it  held  on  the 
inside.'  It  turned  and  Jeremy  stood  before  her, 
fully  dressed,  an  electric  torch  in  his  hand.  Its 
shaft  of  light  detached  her  from  the  gloom,  showing 
her  pale  pinched  face. 

"I'm  ready,"  he  said  quietly.  "What  is  it?" 
He  put  out  a  hand  to  steady  her.  A  hint  from 
Nurse  Maynard  had  kept  him  out  of  bed. 

"Mother's  worse.  They  want  the  doctor  im- 
mediately. Will  you  go?  .  .  .  Jerry,  I'm 
frightened. " 

"You  mustn't  be  frightened.  I'll  go  at  once. 
I  think  they  expected  some  change  tonight, 
didn't  they?" 

"Yes,  but — you'll  be  quick,  won't  you?" 


Amaranth  or  Asphodel?         259 

"As  quick  aslpossibly  can .  Keep  a  good  heart , 
my  dearest." 

"Oh,  hurry,  hurry,"  she  cried.  "I'll  open  the 
hall-door  for  you.  It  has  a  queer  catch.  It  might 
delay  you." 

She  ran  in  front  of  him,  opened  the  door,  and 
almost  pushed  him  out.  A  white  mist  rose  thinly 
from  the  ground  in  ghostly  swirls.  It  swayed 
round  Jeremy,  blotting  him  from  sight  as  he  ran 
down  the  avenue.  The  echo  of  his  footsteps  came 
out  of  the  vapour  for  a  moment.  Then  all  was 
still. 

"Oh,  hurry,  hurry!"  Desiree  breathed,  as  she 
turned  back  into  the  hall.  She  left  the  door  on  the 
latch.  There  must  be  no  delay  on  their  return. 
The  hall  looked  darker  than  ever  after  the  semi- 
lightness  outside.  She  had  not  known  how  mena- 
cing the  inanimate  could  be.  She  felt  the  shadows 
thicken  about  her,  swirl  Hke  the  mists  and  envel- 
ope her  in  an  icy  blackness  that  crept  slowly  from 
her  feet  towards  her  heart.  She  tried  to  shake 
off  the  fear  she  dared  not  voice,  as  she  ran  pant- 
ing up  the  stairs  and  along  the  corridor  to  the  door 
of  her  mother's  room.  .  .  .  The  nurses  were 
alarmists.  There  was  no  real  cause  for  fear. 
Everyone  got  bad  turns  in  fevers.  They  expected 
jt.  It  was  nothing  out  of  the  ordinary  course. 
Jeremy  would  bring  Dr.  Clements  in  a  few  minutes 
and  he  would  quickly  put  things  right.  There 
were  no  complications.     No 

The  door  was  ajar.     Desiree  stood  for  a  moment 


26o  'The  Beloved  Sinner 

on  the  threshold  to  steady  herself  before  she  went 
in.  The  shadow  crept  about  her  as  she  looked, 
chaining  her  where  she  stood,  robbing  her  of  all 
power  of  motion.  A  murmur  reached  her,  chilling 
her  further :  a  dreadful  monotonous  murmur  such 
as  she  had  never  heard  before. 

The  windows  were  open  wide  to  the  swirling 
mists,  letting  in  cold  wafts  of  air  on  the  grey  half- 
light.  A  hooded  lamp  stood  on  a  table  near  the 
bed,  its  ray,  yellow  in  the  dawn-dusk,  full  on  Lady 
Brigid,  who  lay  breathing  with  apparent  difficulty 
in  her  husband's  arms,  her  face  ashen  in  the  strange 
mingling  of  lights,  her  eyes  half -open. 

Was  that  really  her  father  crouched  on  the  bed, 
holding  the  fragile  figure  to  him  as  if  he  would 
defend  it  from  all  comers?  His  face  was  changed. 
His  eyes  shone  with  a  fierce  defiance.  His  lips 
were  curled  in  a  dreadful  travesty  of  a  smile  as  he 
uttered  one  word  over  and  over  again. 

"No,"  he  was  saying.     "No.     No.      No." 

Who,  what  was  he  defying?  Not  the  nurses, 
who  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  whispering 
uneasily.  Not  Desiree,  whom  he  did  not  even 
see.  What  then?  Some  Unseen  Presence  which 
drew  momentarily  nearer?  The  creeping  shadow 
which  had  kept  her  company,  spread  to  the  bed, 
where  it  already  lay  grey  upon  the  beloved  face. 

"She's  going!"  cried  Nurse  Maynard,  moving 
forward. 

Going?  Where?  The  words  cut  across  De- 
siree's  fetters,  loosing  her  suddenly. 


'     Amaranth  or  Asphodel  ?  261 

With  a  great  cry  she  sprang  forward  and  threw 
herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside,  clasping  the 
cold  hand  in  both  her  own,  as  if  she  would  fain 
pour  through  it  all  her  young  vitality. 

"Mother!"  she  cried.     "Mother!" 

With  a  visible  effort  Brigid  Hasard  raised  her 
heavy  lids. 

"Dede!"  she  said  faintly.  Then,  "Noel!" 
She  scarcely  breathed  the  words. 

Her  face  changed,  grew  radiant.  Her  blue  eyes 
opened  wide  as  if  upon  some  heavenly  vision. 
She  was  gone.   .    .    . 

"No,"  said  Noel  Hasard  again.  There  was 
something  terrifying  in  the  dull  intensity  of  the 
reiteration.     "No  .    .    .   No  .    .    .  No." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Hasard,"  whispered  Nurse  Maynard, 
weeping.     ' '  Dear  Lady  Brigid  has  left  us. ' ' 

' '  No,  no.  Her  hand  is  quite  warm, ' '  murmured 
Desiree,  lifting  a  haggard  face.  "I  have  warmed 
it.  Please  go.  Leave  us  alone.  She  will  speak 
to  us  again  in  a  moment,  won't  you,  darling? " 

Nurse  Maynard  shook  her  head,  but  said  no- 
thing. Footsteps  sounded  in  the  corridor  outside. 
The  nurses  moved  swiftly  to  the  door.  The 
doctor  was  coming.  There  was  nothing  for  him 
to  do  now. 

Not  all  the  wonders  of  science  or  the  resources  of 
medical  skill  can  restore  the  sword  of  the  spirit  to 
the  earthly  scabbard  it  has  discarded .... 

Yet,  when  the  first  bitterness  of  grief  is  overpast, 
who  that  really  loves  would  call  back  the  freed 


262  The  Beloved  Sinner 

soul  to  the  prison  of  the  body,  with  its  "five 
small  windows  closely  barred,  and  each  one 
shackled  with  forgetfulness?" 

Sorrow  touches  different  natures  to  different 
issues. 

After  one  heart-broken  outburst  it  froze  De- 
siree  to  a  dumb  apathy,  alternating  with  inward 
storms  of  rebellion.  She  moved  like  a  ghost  about 
the  house,  wan  and  aloof,  in  those  first  dreadful 
days  of  the  icy  loneliness,  the  heavy  silence  of 
death :  her  only  care  her  father,  who  seemed  more 
remote  than  ever  in  the  terrible  isolation  of  his 
grief. 

He  shut  himself  into  his  study,  wrestling  with 
his  soul,  speaking  to  no  one,  seeing  no  one  save 
Desiree,  who  waited  upon  him.  Even  to  her  he 
did  not  speak  save  to  assent  to  any  proposition  she 
put  before  him.  She  was  never  sure  that  he  had 
really  heard  her. 

Noel  Hasard's  heart  still  cried  "No"  to  the 
inevitable.  His  anguished  silence  rebelled  fiercely 
against  the  decree  to  which  he  knew  he  must  bend 
if  he  were  ever  to  find  peace  again.  It  was  a  con- 
flict of  body  and  soul  as  vital  as  that  of  his  early 
manhood,  when  flesh  and  spirit  warred  over  his 
self-enforced  celibacy.  The  idea  that  his  wife 
might  die  had  never  even  occurred  to  him.  The 
shock,  the  impossibility  of  belief  in  such  a  rending 
apart,  shook  his  mental  poise,  and  sent  him 
wandering  in  the  abomination  of  desolation.     For 


Amaranth  or  Asphodel  ?  263 

two  black  days  he  lost  his  God :  the  God  whom  he 
had  worshipped  so  faithfully.  .  .  . 

But  God  had  not  lost  him. 

By  the  side  of  the  shed  body  with  its  frozen  smile 
of  exquisite  radiance:  the  body  he  had  loved,  be- 
cause it  enshrined  a  spirit  which  he  loved  still 
better  and  which  had  left  him  stumbling  and  grop- 
ing far  behind,  Love  Infinite  found  him.   .    .   . 

Is  my  gloom,  after  all, 
Shade  of  His  hand,  outstretched  caressingly?   .    .    . 
"  Thou  dravest  love  from  thee,  who  dravest  Me." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

**LIFE  IS  A  wheel" 

Lady  Monica  Bland  came  to  Bressy  as  soon  as 
she  heard  of  Brigid  Hasard  's  death.  She  had  been 
fond  of  her  sister,  but  their  ways  had  diverged  so 
far  of  late  years  that  her  affection  had  become  more 
of  a  sentimental  than  an  urgent  feeling. 

She  at  once  took  charge  of  the  situation,  re- 
lieved to  find  Jeremy  at  hand  and  in  a  position 
to  help. 

' '  Such  a  blessing  to  have  a  man  here  on  whom 
we  can  depend.  John  would  have  been  useless, 
and  as  for  poor  Noel — ! "  a  sigh  and  a  shake  of  her 
head  finished  the  sentence. 

She  and  her  brother-in-law  had  always  been 
poles  apart.  His  sole  comment  upon  her  had 
been : 

"Monica  is  a  comely  woman. " 

"It  gives  me  a  crick  in  my  neck  to  look  up  to 
him,"  she  once  told  Brigid.  "I  don't  know  how 
you  stand  such  a  rarefied  atmosphere!" 

The  "comely  woman"  had  not  sufficient  imagi- 
nation to  vision  the  "two  soul-sides"  of  a  man, 
nor  to  realize  how  different  is  the  "one  he  shows  a 

264 


''Life  is  a  Wheel"  265 

wcman  when  he  loves  her"  from  that  which  he 
keeps  for  the  world  outside.  Soul-sides  had  but 
little  to  do  with  her  comfortable  material  life. 

She  saw  that  the  conventions  were  observed, 
interviewed  the  sympathetic  people  who  came  and 
went,  arranged  the  necessary  staging,  the  trap- 
pings of  woe,  that  seem  such  a  mockery  to  those 
whom  Death  has  bereft.  Jeremy  was  a  tower  of 
strength  in  those  endless  aching  days,  but  nothing 
external  seemed  to  matter  to  Desiree.  Grief  had, 
for  the  time  being,  pushed  aside  even  the  love 
that  had  once  filled  her  world  from  horizon  to 
horizon.  The  knowledge  of  his  presence  warmed 
her  desolation  from  its  first  icy  numbness,  but 
that  was  all  for  the  moment. 

Jeremy  understood.  He  was  content  to  wait 
until  she  should  have  recovered  from  the  first 
intensity  of  the  shock.  His  love  rose  above  the 
glow  of  desire  in  those  trying  days,  shedding  some 
of  the  dross  of  selfishness  that  clings  about  most 
earthly  passions. 

He  was  profoundly  thankful  that  he  had  obeyed 
the  urgency  of  the  impulse  which  drove  him  to 
Bressy:  thankful  that  there  were  so  many  real 
tangible  things  which  he  could  do  to  spare  the 
grief -stricken  household. 

They  were  days  of  world-stress  too,  when  wars 
and  rumours  of  wars  fled  from  lip  to  lip,  touching 
all  save  the  two  who  sat  alone  in  the  isolation  of 
their  sorrow.  Days  of  an  August  that  has  changed 
the  fate  of  humanity  for  countless  generations  yet 


266  The  Beloved  Sinner 

to  come:  days  of  cataclysm  that  surely  left  no 
other  household  in  England  so  untouched. 

When  all  that  was  mortal  of  Brigid  Hasard  had 
been  laid  to  rest  in  the  old  mossy  churchyard  near 
the  outer  wall  of  that  Lady  Chapel  which  had 
given  her  so  many  days  of  mundane  anxiety,  Lady 
Monica  went  back  to  Frayne,  breathing  a  little 
sigh  of  thankfulness  that  Gillian's  wedding  had 
been  safely  over  before  this  dreadful  thing  hap- 
pened. 

"I  suppose  poor  Hugh  Talbot  will  have  to  go  to 
France  immediately,"  she  said  to  Desiree  before 
she  left. 

"To  France?  Why?"  asked  the  girl  dully. 
She  looked  thin  and  fragile  in  her  black  dress, 
which  made  the  gold  of  her  hair  and  the  delicacy 
of  her  colouring  seem  almost  improperly  vivid. 

"The  war,  of  course.  Don't  you  know  that 
we're  at  war  with  Germany?"  said  Lady  Monica. 

"No.  I  didn't  realize  it.  Nothing  seems  to 
matter  much. " 

"This  is  going  to  matter  a  great  deal,  "  answered 
Lady  Monica  briskly.  "Come,  Dede,  you  must 
rouse  yourself.  You  are  young  and  have  your 
life  before  you.  You  must  realize  that  there  are 
other  people  besides  yourself  in  the  world.  Your 
poor  mother  would  be  the  last  person  to  wish  you 
to  give  way  like  this. ' ' 

Desiree  flushed  painfully  and  opened  her  lips  as 
if  to  speak,  but  closed  them  again  without  saying 
anything. 


''Life  is  a  Wheel"  267 

•'You're  engaged  to  a  charming  fellow  too, '^ 
Lady  Monica  pursued.  "You  must  think  of  him. 
Jeremy  has  been  very  patient,  but  he's  only 
human.  This  absorption  in  your  very  natural 
grief  is  not  quite  fair  to  him. " 

"Isn't  it?"  Desir6e  said  with  difficulty.  "I 
suppose  not.  I — I'm  afraid  I  haven't  been  think- 
ing very  much  of  Jeremy.  I — I'm  sorry — but  I 
think  he — understands. " 

"Never  presume  too  much  on  a  man's  under- 
standing," counselled  Lady  Monica.  "They  are 
curious  creatures.  Now  good-bye,  my  poor  darling, 
and  be  sure  you  come  to  Frayne  whenever  you 
feel  you  want  a  change. " 

"Thank  you,  Aunt  Monica.  You  have  been 
very  good." 

It  was  with  mingled  feelings  that  Desiree 
watched  her  aunt's  departure.  Lady  Monica  had 
been  a  shield  between  her  and  the  outside  curious- 
kindly  world.  She  had  interposed  herself  be- 
tween the  shrinking  girl  and  the  outpourings  of 
sympathy  which  would  have  jarred  on  the  raw 
wound  of  her  loss.  But  with  all  her  kindness  she 
had  not  really  understood,  and  her  attitude  to- 
wards the  Rector  had  raised  a  curious  little  barrier 
between  them.  Her  parting  words  roused  the 
girl  to  a  realization  of  the  duties  and  responsibilities 
that  had  to  be  faced  as  long  as  she  herself  drew 
breath.     In  that  they  had  been  tonic. 

On  his  return  from  the  station  Jeremy,  looking 
for  Desiree,  found  her  sitting  by  the  lily-pond 


268  The  Beloved  Sinner 

with  hands  clasped  lightly  in  her  lap  and  vague 
unseeing  eyes.  Her  face  looked  small  and  drained 
of  life  as  he  watched  her  for  a  moment  unseen: 
purple  shadows  lay  heavy  beneath  her  eyes.  For 
a  moment  he  had  a  mad  primitive  impulse  to 
snatch  her  up  in  his  arms  and  carry  her  off  to  some 
wild  fastness  where  there  was  none  to  come  be- 
tween them;  where  he  could  warm  her  white 
aloofness  back  to  life  and  love.  At  the  moment 
he  felt  barred  out,  very  far  away. 

Something  of  his  longing  must  have  touched  her 
spirit,  for  she  turned  slowly  and  saw  him.  As 
their  eyes  met  he  had  his  reward.  Her  face  lost 
its  maskHke  look:  love  quivered  through  it  once 
more,  breaking  its  stillness.  Her  eyes  lost  their 
vagueness  and  quickened  to  womanhood.  She 
rose  and  came  towards  him  with  outstretched 
hands  and  trembling  lips. 

"Jerry!"  she  cried  softly.  "I  have  been  very 
lonely  without  you. " 

He  put  his  arms  round  her.  For  a  moment  he 
could  not  control  his  voice.  Then  he  said  very 
low: 

"I  thought  you  were  never  going  to  want  me 
again." 

"Oh,  no,  no.  How  could  you  think  that?  It 
was  only " 

"I  know.     I  understand. " 

"I  knew  you  did.  How  good  and  patient  you 
have  been,  my  dearest!" 

"There  was  so  little  I  could  do. " 


"Life  is  a  Wheel"  269 

"So  little?"  she  echoed.  "Jerry,  you'll  never 
know  how  much  you  have  done  for  us  all.  "  Then, 
after  a  moment,  an  old  poignant  regret  broke 
forth:  "She  never  knew  you.  You  never  knew 
her.   .    .    .      Oh,  Jerry,  Jerry!" 

He  laid  a  tender  hand  on  her  hair.  "It  will  be 
a  lifelong  regret."  Gently  he  led  her  on  to  talk 
of  the  beloved  dead,  knowing  that  nothing  else 
would  so  ease  the  lonely  pain.  Then  at  last  he 
spoke  of  the  needs  of  today:  of  the  seed  of  fire 
sown  in  the  Balkans  which  had  burst  into  such 
sudden  and  appalling  flame. 

"But  how  does  that  affect  us?"  she  asked, 
looking  up  with  wide  frightened  eyes.  "It  isn't 
as  if  you  were  a  soldier.    If  you  were  a  soldier ' ' 

"I've  got  to  be  a  soldier,  my  Desiree, "  he  said 
gently.  "We've  all  got  to  be  soldiers  for  England 
now.  You  must  be  a  soldier's  wife,  sweetheart, 
and  buckle  on  my  sword  for  me.     Won't  you?" 

"You  mean ?" 

"I  mean  all  that  your  brave  heart  will  see  for 
itself  the  moment  you  think  it  out.  You  wouldn't 
have  me  a  coward,  shirking  at  home  while  others 
fought  for  me — and  you  ? ' ' 

"You  a  coward!"  she  echoed  soomfuUy. 

He  smiled  and  took  her  face  between  his  hands. 
"I  knew  you  would  see  eye  to  eye  with  me,  my 
heart.     Listen.     Whisper." 

She  did  not  heed  him.  A  sudden  panic  shook 
her.     She  clutched  at  him  with  both  hands. 

"Jeremy!     Will  there  be  danger?" 


270  The  Beloved  Sinner 

'There  is  always  danger  for  a  soldier,"  he 
answered  quietly.  "But  you  wouldn't  have  me 
shirk  it  because  of  that?" 

"No." 

' '  Besides  it  may  all  be  over  before  I  am  ready  to 
go  out. " 

"God  grant  it  may!"  she  breathed  with  sud- 
denly whitened  lips. 

He  drew  her  closer  to  him  and  whispered  in  her 
ear. 

"Will  you  marry  me  before  I  go  out? " 

"Marry  you?"  she  echoed.  Oh,  if  only  she 
could!  .  .  .  "Darling — I — I — but  I  can't  leave 
him." 

"Your  father?  I  shan't  ask  you  to.  I  only 
want  you  to  be  mine,  to  belong  to  me  before  I  go 
away.     Will  you  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  Jerry,"  she  sighed,  hiding  her  face  against 
his  shoulder  with  a  sense  of  longing  that  was 
almost  pain. 

"You  will?"  ^ 

"If  you  wish." 

"//  I  wish?"  His  clasp  tightened.  Here 
indeed  was  "peach  out  of  pain,"  in  spite  of  the 
impending  separation.  She  would  be  his,  his, 
come  what  might. 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time,  resting  in  the 
renewed  joy  of  mutual  understanding.  Tendrils 
of  hope  thrust  tentatively  towards  the  light 
which  suddenly  brightened  the  grey  horizon  of 
the  future. 


"Life  is  a  Wheel"  271 

Then  Jeiemy  said:  "I  must  leave  you  to- 
morrow." 

"So  soon?"  she  cried,  clinging  to  him. 

"There  are  many  things  to  see  to  before  I  join. 
I  thought  that  perhaps  we  could  persuade  your 
father  to  come  to  us  at  Beaumont  for  a  little.  .  .  . 
We  could  have  our  honeymoon  there.  Would 
you  like  that?" 

"I'd  love  it,  "  she  whispered. 

"Then  you  could  come  back  with  him  and  stay 
here  until  the  war  is  over  and  you  come  to  Beau- 
mont for  good.     Will  that  suit  you  ? " 

"But  the  future ?" 

' '  Let  the  future  take  care  of  itself. ' ' 

"Your  mother?" 

"My  mother  will  welcome  you  as  a  daughter." 

Desiree  winced  a  little.  "She  has  written  very 
kind  letters, "  she  forced  herself  to  say. 

"You  will  love  her  when  you  know  her,"  said 
Jeremy,  with  all  a  man's  easy  optimism  about  the 
affections  of  his  womenkind.  '  *  We  must  see  about 
getting  a  curate  for  your  father.  The  work  is  far 
too  much  for  him,  especially  now.  He's  not  a 
young  man,  Dede." 

"No,"  said  Desiree  with  a  pang.  "He  looks 
so  pitifully  different  now — so  broken.  But  he  is 
good,  Jerry.     He — He " 

"He  has  the  face  of  a  saint,"  said  Jeremy. 
"And  one  doesn't  get  that  easily.  By  the  way, 
I  met  an  extraordinary  individual  in  the  avenue 
as  I  was  coming  in.     A  tall  thin  youth  with  wild 


272  The  Beloved  Sinner 

eyes  and  a  shock  of  red  hair.  He  first  passed  me 
without  speaking,  then  he  changed  his  mind  and 
swung  round — 'How  is  she?'  he  shot  at  me. 
Really,  there  was  quite  a  'stand  and  deliver'  air 
about  him!" 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  asked  him  if  he  meant  you  and  he  said 
'Who  else?'  D6de,  are  you  the  only  'she'  in  the 
universe  for  that  young  man?    Who  is  he?" 

"Leander  Wing,  the  artist  who  is  doing  the 
screen  for  the  Lady  Chapel." 

' '  And  the  poor  dog  has  fallen  in  love  with  you  ? " 

"He  has  the  artistic  temperament,"  Desiree 
answered.  "Poor  boy,  he  fancied  himself  in 
love  with  me."  Alas,  for  Leander  and  his  "starry 
girdle  of  the  spheres!"  "You  don't  mind,  do 
you,  Jerry  ?     We  are  only  friends  really. ' ' 

' '  You  flirted  with  him  ?     Bad  little  girl ! ' ' 

"Perhaps  I  did,  long  ago.  How  very  long  ago 
it  seems!" 

"Why  should  I  mind?  You  are  mine.  I  felt 
sorry  for  him,  poor  dog.  His  parting  word  to  me 
was:  'So  you're  the  man!  If  you're  not  good 
to  her  I'll  kill  you'!" 

"What  did  you  say?"  asked  Desiree  again. 

Jeremy  gave  a  queer  little  laugh. 

"I  said,  'If  I'm  not,  you  may'!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  MONEY   WEB 

With  Jeremy's  departure  the  tentacles  of  every- 
day clutched  at  Desiree  once  more.  One  by  one 
the  wheels  of  the  household  began  to  revolve  as 
before,  but  with  this  difference,  that  now  they 
creaked  audibly  where  of  yore  no  sound  was  ever 
heard. 

Little  worries  arose  almost  hourly,  petty  de- 
cisions to  be  made,  small  untowardnesses  to  be 
dealt  with,  minor  matters  to  be  arranged:  each 
trivial  in  itself,  yet  accumulating  to  the  pricking 
discomfort  of  a  cloud  of  gnats ! 

The  hens  were  not  laying  properly:  Bunt  did 
not  know  where  to  put  the  spring  broccoli:  the 
asparagus  had  been  allowed  to  seed  too  freely. 
Cook  had  no  Tarragon  vinegar  for  the  mayon- 
naise. Indeed  she  wasn't  sure  she  could  make 
the  sauce  as  the  master  liked  it.  It  was  her  poor 
ladyship  who  had  always  done  it.  .  .  .  And  so 
on,  prick,  buzz,  sting. 

Finally  Jane  came  with  the  housekeeping- 
books,  at  which  Desiree  looked  in  dismay. 

"They're  always  paid  on  Saturday,  Miss 
i8  273 


274  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Dede.  Not  for  the  last  few  weeks,  though.  I 
didn't  like  to  bother  you,  miss.  Besides,  I  hadn't 
the  money." 

Desir6e  had  no  money  either.  She  must  go  to 
her  fathe'r.  Another  thought  struck  her  weary 
brain.  The  servants'  wages  ,  .  .  had  they  been 
paid?  She  questioned  Jane.  The  woman  hesi- 
tated, reluctant  to  trouble  her  young  mistress 
further. 

* '  Not  yet,  miss.  Due  on  the  20th  July,  both  of 
us.     Bunt  is  weekly, "  she  admitted  when  pressed. 

"I'll  see  about  it,  Jane.  You  should  have 
spoken  to  me  sooner." 

"There  was  no  hurry.  Her  poor  ladyship — " 
tears  filled  Jane's  eyes  as  she  turned  away. 

With  lagging  steps  Desiree  went  to  the  study. 
She  hated  the  idea  of  bothering  her  father,  but 
it  had  to  be  done.  She  did  not  know  how  her 
mother  had  managed  about  money,  whether  she 
had  had  a  weekly  allowance  or  used  her  own  in- 
come. Money  was  hateful:  yet  how  large  the 
need  of  it  bujked  in  one's  life ! 

Mere  existence  had  been  a  joy  but  one  short 
month  ago.  Now  life  seemed  to  be  made  up  of  a 
tangle  of  petty  worries  against  a  dark  background 
of  loss  and  loneliness.  How  little  she  had  known 
of  reality !  And  if  Jeremy  went  to  the  front  there 
would  be  an  added  daily  anguish  as  well. 

The  sound  of  voices  smote  on  her  ear  as  she 
reached  the  study  door.  She  had  not  known  that 
any  one  was  with  her  father.     She  knocked. 


The  Money  Web  275 

"Come  in,"  said  the  Rector's  voice,  slightly 
sharpened. 

She  entered.  Her  father  sat  by  the  empty 
fireplace  beneath  the  angels  of  the  triptych, 
leaning  his  head  on  his  hand.  Facing  him  sat  a 
short,  grey  man,  in  a  black  coat.  The  table  before 
him  was  scattered  with  documents.  He  held  one 
in  his  hand  from  which  he  had  apparently  been 
reading  when- she  opened  the  door.  He  stopped 
abruptly  and  rose  to  greet  her.  With  a  sense 
of  surprise  she  recognized  him  as  Mr.  Bamet,  her 
mother's  solicitor,  whom  she  had  met  once  or 
twice. 

"My  deepest  sympathy.  Miss  Hasard, "  Mr. 
Bamet  said,  with  a  touch  of  genuine  feeling  be- 
neath his  official  manner.  "I  had  not  known  of 
the  melancholy  occurrence  until  last  night.  I 
came  over  as  early  as  I  could  today." 

"That  was  very  good  of  you,"  answered 
Desiree,  wondering  vaguely  why  he  had  thought 
a  visit  necessary. 

"Mr.  Bamet  has  kindly  come  to  tell  us  about 
your  dear  mother's  business  affairs, "  said  the 
Rector  in  a  thin  voice  drained  of  all  feeling — utterly 
unlike  his  usual  beautifully  modulated  tones.  It 
seemed  to  Desiree's  newly  sharpened  senses  as  if 
he  spoke  from  a  great  distance.  A  sudden  pang 
smote  her.     Was  he,  too,  drifting  away? 

"I  won't  interrupt  you,  then,"  she  said,  turning. 
Her  errand  must  wait  until  later. 

"No.     Please  stay,  Miss  Hasard,"  put  in  Mr. 


276  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Bamet  quickly.  "The  matter  concerns  you  as 
well  as  Mr.  Hasard." 

' '  Do  you  wish  me  to  stay  ? "  she  asked  her  father, 
glancing  at  him  with  quick  apprehension. 

"Yes,  dear.  Please  go  on,  Mr.  Bamet."  There 
was  a  strange  look  on  his  face :  one  which  the  girl 
could  not  read. 

Mr.  Bamet  hesitated  for  a  moment  as  Desiree 
sat  down  near  her  father.  Then  he  cleared  his 
throat  and  began:  "I  do  not  know  if  you  are 
aware.  Miss  Hasard,  that  in  Lady  Brigid's  will, 
which  I  hold,  she  left  everything  she  died  possessed 
ot  in  equal  shares,  half  to  you  and  half  to  your 
father  in  trust  for  you.  That  means  that  he 
could  only  use  the  income  of  her  bequest,  not  the 
capital." 

"Which  is  nil,  you  tell  me,"  interrupted  the 
Rector.  "Please  spare  us  technicahties,  Mr. 
Bamet.  There  is  no  use  in  specifying  the  clauses 
of  the  will  when,  as  you  have  just  told  me,  my 
wife  had  nothing  to  leave." 

'  *  Nothing ! '  *  Desiree  echoed.  '  *  I  always  thought 
that  mother  had  lots  of  money." 

Mr.  Bamet  pursed  up  his  lips.  He  did  not 
like  being  interrupted  in  the  execution  of  his 
duties. 

' '  Lady  Brigid  was  in  possession  of  a  very  comfort- 
able income  when  she  married, "  he  returned 
drily.  "Unfortimately  she  had  full  control  over 
her  money." 

"Why   unfortunately?"  asked   Desiree,    colour 


The  Money  Web  277 

flaming  into  her  white  cheeks  at  even  the  shadow 
of  condemnation. 

"Because,  my  dear  young  lady,  she  was  able 
to  use  her  capital.  Once  you  begin  to  nibble  at 
capital  a  comfortable  income  soon  crumbles. 
That  was  the  case  with  Lady  Brigid's.  The 
nibbling  process  began  about  fifteen  years  ago, 
very  much  against  my  advice.  It  continued  until 
her  capital  was  reduced  to  almost  half  its  ori- 
ginal proportions," 

He  cleared  his  throat  again,  expecting  another 
interruption,  but  his  two  hearers  sat  mute,  with 
white  stricken  faces.  He  naturally  attributed 
their  silence  to  the  gravity  of  their  money  loss. 
He  had  seen  human  nature  in  many  unveiled 
aspects  during  his  long  career,  and  had  in  most 
cases  found  money  the  most  powerful  motive 
power  of  emotion.  He  did  not  know  that  con- 
science clanged  like  gongs  in  the  ears  of  each : 

' '  She  did  it  for  me !     She  did  it  for  me ! " 

"Last  May,  in  spite  of  my  most  earnest  pro- 
tests. Lady  Brigid  transferred  the  balance  of  her 
capital  from  the  safe  securities  in  which  it  was  in- 
vested  " 

His  interruption  came  now.  Desiree  half  rose 
from  her  chair.  "Not  last  May?  Oh,  not  last 
May!" 

"Yes,  Miss  Hasard,  I  can  give  you  the  date 
and  hour.  She  went  from  my  office  to  meet  you 
at  the  dressmaker's.  I  daresay  you  remember 
the  incident." 


2/8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Remember  the  incident  ?  With  the  vividness  of  a 
scene  revealed  by  Hghtning  all  that  led  up  to  that 
May  day  flashed  across  Desiree's  brain.  How  she 
had  teased  her  mother  to  achieve  the  impossible, 
how  she  had  not  been  satisfied  with  the  promise 
of  Frayne  and  the  wedding,  how  she  had  impor- 
tuned for  the  London  visit!  Across  the  gulf  of 
the  months  she  saw  her  mother's  face  with  the 
two  red  spots  burning  on  her  cheeks,  wistful,  yield- 
ing against  her  better  judgment.  She  heard  the 
soft  voice  with  its  unheeded  ring  of  pain :  ' '  Desiree, 
has  it  ever  struck  you  that  the  impossible  is  only 
attained  at  a  cost,  and  that  that  cost  has  to  be 
counted  some  day?" 

Had  that  day  dawned  now  ? 

Mr.  Bamet  was  speaking.  The  sense  of  his 
words  slowly  filtered  through  her  absorption. 

"In  spite  of  my  strongest  protestations  Lady 
Brigid  invested  her  remaining  six  thousand 
pounds  in  what  I  can  only  call  a  most  fraudulent 
company,  the  Queen  of  Sheba  Gold  Mine.  The 
very  name  ought  to  have  been  sufficient  warning." 

"Probably  it  was  its  Bibhcal  sound  which 
attracted  her.  She  was  as  innocent  as  a  child, " 
said  the  Rector  in  the  same  thin,  detached 
voice. 

"You  knew  nothing  of  the  matter,  then?" 

"I  never  interfered  in  my  wife's  affairs." 

"I  wish  most  heartily  that  you  had, "  said  Mr. 
Bamet,  stung  to  unwonted  fervency.  "Some- 
thing might  have  been  saved  if  you  had  pre- 


The  Money  Web  279 

vented  her  from  investing  in  that  wild-cat  scheme. 
As  it  is — "  he  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Is  nothing  left?"  asked  Desiree  at  last.  "She 
seemed  so  pleased  with  her  new  investment  when 
she  wrote  to  me  at  Frayne." 

"Nothing,  except  what  stands  to  her  account 
at  the  bank.  The  company  paid  one  dividend, 
drew  in  thousands  of  new  shareholders,  and  then 
failed." 

Desiree  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then  she 
broke  out  with  a  touch  of  her  old  impulsiveness : 

"  I  am  glad — glad  she  was  spared  that  .  .  . 
glad  she  never  knew.  Oh,  there  is  mercy  in  death 
after  all!" 

"My  dear  young  lady — "  Mr.  Bamet  began. 

"You  don't  realize  that  it  was  for  me  she  did  it 
all.     That  it  was  my  selfishness,  my- " 

"Owr  selfishness,  my  dear,"  interrupted  the 
Rector,  leaning  forward  and  speaking  with  intense 
self-condemnation.  "It  is  astonishing  how  blind 
we  can  be  to  our  own  shortcomings.  I  was 
absorbed  in  my  work,  in  the  restoration  of  St. 
Osyth's.  I  thought  of  nothing  else,  while  she — " 
his  voice  broke.  He  hung  his  head  over  his 
loosely  clasped  hands.  Some  slowly  growing  sense 
of  horror  seemed  to  grave  deeper  lines  about  his 
mouth. 

The  silence  grew  heavy,  sharp-edged.  Mr. 
Bamet  drew  his  papers  together,  slipped  an  elastic 
band  round  them,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"I  will  leave  these  with  you,  Mr.   Hasard, " 


28o  The  Beloved  Sinner 

he  said.  "You  can  look  over  them  at  your 
leisure." 

Noel  Hasard  waved  them  aside.  "I  trust 
you,  Mr.  Bamet." 

Mr.  Bamet  coughed.  "Nevertheless  I  should 
prefer  to  leave  them.  It  is  always  better  to  have 
proofs  that  trust  is  deserved.  Good-bye,  Miss 
Hasard;  believe  me  that  I  have  felt  this  errand 
very  much.     I  had  a  great  respect  for — a  regard 


"Desiree,  will  you  not  give  Mr.  Bamet  some 
luncheon?  It  is  about  time,  is  it  not?  You 
will  excuse  me " 

* '  No,  no  limch,  thank  you,  Mr.  Hasard.  I  must 
get  back  to  Churchampton  as  quickly  as  possible. 
I  came  in  my  little  two-seater.  I  must  not  delay. 
Please  accept  my  profoundest  sympathy." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Noel  Hasard  tonelessly. 

Desiree's  heart  constricted  at  sight  of  his  hag- 
gard face.  He  looked  like  a  man  who  has  received 
his  death-blow.     She  wondered  why. 

She  saw  Mr.  Bamet  as  far  as  the  hall-door  in 
the  old  friendly  Bressy  fashion.  Then  she  hurried 
back  to  the  study.  She  was  afraid  to  leave  her 
father  alone.     The  look  in  his  eyes  frightened  her. 

She  opened  the  door  without  knocking.  The 
Rector  knelt  by  the  table,  his  face  hidden  in  his 
outstretched  arms,  his  hands  clasped  so  tightly 
that  the  thin  knuckles  showed  white. 

For  an  icy  moment  she  thought  that  he  was 
dead.     Then  she  saw  that  the  rigid  intensity  of  the 


The  Money  Web  281 

still  figure  was  the  rigour  of  mental  anguish  rather 
than  the  order  of  release. 

She  ran  forward  and  put  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Daddy,  what  it  is?"  she  cried.  "Oh,  what  is 
it?  Not  the  old  money  surely?  What  does  that 
matter  as  long  as  we  have  each  other  ? " 

A  shudder  shook  the  frail  bent  figure,  sending  a 
thrill  of  fear  through  her. 

"What  is  it,  darling?"  she  cried,  again  bending 
lower.    ' '  Tell  me.    Let  me  share  it,  whatever  it  is. ' ' 

He  raised  his  head.  His  face  was  ghastly. 
Great  drops  of  agony  rolled  down  his  forehead. 

"It  is  the  money,  Desiree, "  he  said  in  a  harsh 
strained  voice.  "Don't  you  see — that  without 
it— I  am  a  thief?" 

Desiree  drew  back  in  astonishment.  For  a 
moment  she  wondered  if  he  had  gone  mad.  But 
no,  the  light  of  sanity  shone  clear  through  the 
anguish  in  his  eyes. 

"I — don't  understand,  "  she  gasped. 

"You  may  well  shrink  from  me,"  he  said 
bitterly.     "I,  who  have  condemned  others " 

"I  didn't  shrink,"  cried  the  girl,  wounded. 
She  fltmg  her  arms  round  him  and  tried  to  draw 
his  head  to  her  shoulder.  ' '  How  could  you  think 
I  would  shrink  from  you  whatever  happened?" 
Tears  rained  down  her  cheeks.  * '  You  must  never 
say  such  a  thing,  never  think  such  a  thing  again." 

"No,  no,"  he  soothed.  .  "I  did  not  mean  it, 
my  child.     You    are  a   good   girl,   the  best   of 


282  The  Beloved  Sinner 

daughters."  He  put  her  away  gently  from  him 
and  walked  to  the  window.  For  the  first  time 
it  occurred  to  him  that  what  he  had  to  say  would 
hurt  her  still  further. 

"You  don't  understand,  Desiree, "  he  said, 
without  turning  round.  "How  could  you,  poor 
child?  You  must  not  be  wounded.  My  blame 
is  only  for  myself.  Your  share  is  over  and  done 
with,  blotted  out." 

Desiree's  heart  thudded.  Painfully  she  won- 
dered what  was  coming.  She  could  not  speak. 
Something  in  her  throat  choked  utterance. 

"When  you  came  to  me  some  time  ago  for 
money  I  had  none  of  my  own  to  give  you.  .  .  . 
In  my  possession  was  a  cheque  made  payable  to 
me  by  Lord  Garry.  It  was  a  donation  towards 
the  screen.  .  .  .  I — paid  it  in  to  my  own  account 
instead  of  to  the  Restoration  Fund.  I — borrowed 
it.''  The  self -contempt  of  the  word  rang  like 
steel.     * '  Now  do  you  see  ? ' ' 

"You  borrowed  it  to  pay  my  debts,"  she  fal- 
tered, hiding  her  face  in  her  hands.  How  inevitably 
it  all  traced  back  to  her  selfish  folly — no,  her  sin ! 

"In  other  words,  I  stole  it,"  the  pitiless  words 
cut  across  the  stillness. 

"Oh,  no!     No!" 

"What  else?  Of  course  I  intended  to  repay  it, 
but  what  does  the  intention  matter?  The  fact 
remains  that  I — I  who  in  my  pride  held  my  head 
so  high — have  fallen  to  the  level  of  the  very  sin  for 
which  I  condemned  poor  Tom  Herring." 


The  Money  Web  283 

"No,  no,"  cried  Desiree  again.  "You  only 
borrowed  it." 

"Without  asking  permission." 

"Cousin  Ludlow  would  willingly  have  lent 
you  the  money." 

"Yes,  if  I  had  asked  him  .  .  .  but  I  don't  even 
know  when  he  will  return  from  Russia.  No, 
Desiree,  there  is  no  use  in  cloaking  ugly  facts  with 
fair  words.  To  all  intents  and  purposes  I  put  my 
hand  in  the  till  of  the  Restoration  Fund  and 
'borrowed' — just  as  poor  Tom  did." 

Desiree  was  stricken  silent,  her  whole  being 
burning  with  shame. 

"But  you  can  pay  it  back,  "  she  said  in  a  choked 
voice,  after  a  pause. 

"You  forget  that  there  is  the  three  hundred 
pounds  for  the  screen  as  well.  That  is  promised 
to  young  Wing." 

"Over  five  hundred  pounds!"  Desiree  faltered. 

'  *  Over  five  hundred  pounds, ' '  her  father  echoed. 
' '  Where  is  it  to  come  from  ?  We  shall  have  barely 
enough  money  to  live  upon,  as  it  is.  My  stipend 
—  "he  broke  off,  and  turning  from  the  window 
sat  down  heavily  in  his  chair,  hiding  his  eyes 
from  the  light  as  if  he  were  afraid  to  face  the  day. 

"Wouldn't  Cousin  Ludlow  lend ?" 

"Can  I  tell  him  I  have  stolen  the  cheque  he 
sent  me  and  ask  him  to  lend  me  three  hundred 
pounds  more  on  the  strength  of  it? " 

It  cut  Desiree  like  a  knife  to  hear  the  shame  in 
her  father's  voice. 


284  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"I  can,"  she  faltered.  "It  has  all  been  my 
fault.  Let  me  tell  him.  He  is  the  kindest,  most 
understanding " 

"Theft  takes  a  good  deal  of  understanding," 
said  Noel  Hasard  bitterly.  "Leave  me  now,  my 
dear.  ...  I  must  make  my  confession  to  God 
and  man,  and  pay  back  every  penny  of  the  money 
I — borrowed — before  I  can  feel  that  my  hands 
are  clean  again." 

He  bowed  his  head  on  his  hands.  Desiree 
stole  from  the  room,  afraid  to  offer  sympathy  or 
consolation.  A  barrier  seemed  to  have  risen 
between  them,  hard  and  clear  as  glass.  They 
could  see  one  another  through  it,  but  they  could 
not  touch — yet. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


LORD   GARRY  RETURNS 


As  Desiree  blundered  across  the  hall  with  un- 
seeing eyes,  she  ran  into  someone  who  came 
quickly  towards  her  from  the  open  hall-door. 
She  stumbled  at  the  impact  and  would  have  fallen 
if  a  strong  arm  had  not  held  her  up. 

"Gently,  little  girl,"  said  a  well-remembered 
voice. 

"Cousin  Ludlow!  You?  Oh,  I  thought  you 
were  in  Russia!"  The  coincidence  was  too 
startling  for  her  over-strained  nerves.  Tears  fell 
quick  as  rain  as  she  clung  to  him  for  a  moment 
sobbing. 

He  dried  her  eyes  with  his  own  handkerchief, 
stroked  her  hair  gently,  and  said  nothing.  That 
alone  was  comfort.  So  many  people  had  thought 
it  necessary  to  say  things,  unheeding  how  they 
jarred.     Lord  Garry's  silence  was  soothing. 

After  a  moment  Desiree  controlled  herself. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said  shakily.  "I  didn't 
mean  to — but  the  sight  of  you — the  comfort  of 
you — ' '  her  lips  trembled  as  she  broke  off.  '  *  Come 
somewhere  where  we  can  talk." 

285 


286  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Yes.  You  have  much  to  tell  me,"  he  returned 
gravely.  His  whimsical  face  had  a  quenched 
look. 

"Everything  in  the  world.  .  .  .  You  know?" 
she  asked  quickly. 

"Yes.  I  met  Judy  Bland  on  my  way  through 
town.  .  .  .     She  told  me." 

"Where  shall  we  go?  .  .  .     The  Yew  Garden ? " 

"No."  He  could  not  face  the  Yew  Garden,  so 
redolent  of  her  whom  he  had  loved  so  deeply,  just 
yet.  It  was  there  he  had  seen  her  last  alone, 
sweet  and  gracious  as  ever,  but  turning  eagerly 
from  him  to  greet  her  husband.  "Let's  go  to  the 
drawing-room.     Tell  Jane  to  let  no  one  else  in." 

She  ran  away  to  give  the  order.  When  she 
returned  she  found  him  at  the  window,  staring 
at  the  riot  of  colour  in  the  garden  with  eyes  that 
saw  nothing  of  August's  pageant  of  flaming  orange 
and  gold.  She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm 
and  leaned  her  head  against  his  shoulder.  Each 
sore  heart  found  comfort  in  the  silent  contact. 
.  .  .     Presently  Lord  Garry  asked  a  question. 

"Did  she — speak  of  me? " 

"Yes,  once, "  Desiree  answered,  eager  to  console. 

"What  did  she  say?" 

"It  was  the  day  I  came  home.  She  spoke  of 
your  goodness  in  sending  Daddy  the  cheque  for 
the  screen."  Suddenly  her  face  flamed  at  the 
recollection  of  all  that  her  words  implied. 

Lord  Garry  noticed  nothing.  He  was  still 
staring  at  the  tangle  of  sunflowers  and  golden-rod. 


Lord  Garry  Returns  287 

In  his  heart  was  a  sadness  too  deep  for  words. 
.  .  .  Her  only  thought  for  him  had  been  in 
connection  with  the  man  she  had  always  loved 
best.  There  had  been  nothing  personal  about 
it.  Still,  he  had  pleased  her  in  pleasing  Noel, 
and  when  one  would  lay  down  one's  life  for  a 
woman  it  should  not  be  harder  to  lay  aside 
self.  .  .  . 

"Sit  down  and  tell  me  what  you  can,"  he  said 
suddenly. 

To  him  also  the  drawing-room,  once  so  perfect  a 
background  for  the  one  beloved  figure,  had  a  dry 
empty  air.  He  drew  a  chair  near  the  open  window 
for  r^esiree  and  sat  down  facing  her.  For  the 
first  time  he  really  looked  at  her,  and  was  startled 
at  the  change  he  saw.  The  sharpened  contour  of 
cheek  and  chin,  the  heavy  sadness  of  the  blue 
eyes,  these  were  only  to  be  expected,  but  there 
were  other  and  subtler  changes.  It  was  a  woman's 
soul  that  looked  at  him  out  of  the  darkened  eyes: 
a  soul  new-risen  as  the  Phoenix  out  of  the  ashes 
of  sorrowful  experience.  It  was  a  woman's  voice 
that  told  him  gently  all  the  little  details  his  aching 
heart  craved  to  know. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  when  she  had  finished. 
Then,  after  a  pause:  "If  I  had  come  back  a  little 
sooner  I  might  have  seen  her." 

Desiree  said  nothing.  Words  seemed  meaning- 
less. Something  of  her  newly  found  intuition  di- 
vined his  suffering  and  held  it  sacred. 

After  a  moment  he  took  out  his  pocket-book. 


288  The  Beloved  Sinner 

opened  it,  and  drew  out  a  slip  of  paper  which  he 
handed  to  her. 

"I  came  across  that  in  a  magazine,"  he  said. 
"You  might  hke  it." 

Eagerly  she  read  the  lines. 

I  dreamed  of  Death :  and  thro'  a  poppied  field 

I  saw  a  gracious  figure,  robed  in  grey, 

Move  silently  with  swift  relentless  feet : 

The  poppies  in  whose  wake  bent  cloud- white  heads,. 

While  those  in  front  uplifted  cups  of  fire : — 

Beneath  whose  feet  were  beds  of  violets 

As  white  as  Spring's  white  foam  (the  fragrant  souls 

Of  those  whose  purple  sweetness  breathes  of  love) 

Whose  face  was  hidden  by  a  misty  veil 

Down-dropping  from  a  crown  of  asphodel : 

Whose  touch,  laid  lightly  upon  wearied  eyes 

Puts  them  to  sleep  upon  this  world  of  ours 

And  wakes  them  to  a  newer,  fuller  life  .  .  . 

And  then  I  thought  if  I  could  lift  the  veil 

(And  all  my  heart  went  yearning  to  the  thought) 

That  there  would  be  revealed  to  me  a  face 

Not  grim  nor  terrible,  nor  gloomy  even, 

But  tender  as  the  welcome  of  a  friend. 

Desiree's  face  changed  and  softened  as  she  read. 
She  looked  up  with  dewy  eyes. 

"You  believe  that,  too,  don't  you?"  she  mur- 
mured. "About  the  'newer,  fuller  life'  and  'the 
welcome  of  a  friend'  ? " 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "but  for  a  long  time  our 
hearts  are  too  sore  even  to  try  to  lift  the  veil  and 


Lord  Garry  Returns  289 

see  the  friend  beneath."  He  folded  the  paper  and 
put  it  back  in  his  pocket-book.  Then  he  leaned 
across  to  Desiree  and  spoke  in  a  different  tone: 
"Judy  told  me  something  about  you,  Dede.  Is  it 
true?" 

"You  mean  about  Jeremy?     Yes,  quite  true." 

Lord  Garry  held  out  his  hand  and  took  hers  in 
a  warm  grasp.     "Is  it  the  only  possible  man?" 

"The  only  possible  man,  "  she  echoed,  a  tinge  of 
radiance  brightening  her  wan  little  face. 

"And  you  met  him  at  Frayne?" 

"I  met  him — at  Frayne."  Her  slight  hesita- 
tion and  quick  blush  did  not  pass  unnoticed  this 
time. 

"In  quite  an  orthodox  fashion?" 

Desiree's  blush  deepened.  She  squeezed  the 
hand  she  held.  "I'll  tell  you  what  no  one  else 
knows.  We  didn't  meet  for  the  first  time  at 
Frayne.  We  met  in  the  train  when  I  was  going 
to  London." 

"And  you  foregathered?     Oh,  naughty  Dede!" 

She  nodded,  quickened  to  something  of  her  old 
animation. 

"And  henceforth,  like  poor  'Douglas,  tender  and 
true,*  all  men  beside  were  to  you  like  shadows — 
even  the  smart  young  men  about  town  who  amuse 
your  Aunt  Monica  so  much  ? " 

"Like  shadows,"  she  answered,  half  under  her 
breath. 

' '  And  he  felt  the  same  ? ' '     The  kindly  catechism 

continued. 
19 


290  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Just  the  same.  .  .  .  We  both — knew — al- 
most at  once." 

"Then  down  on  your  knees,  my  child,  and 
thank  '  whatever  gods  there  be '  for  one  of  the  most 
precious  gifts  in  their  golden  argosy." 

' '  You  mean ? ' ' 

"I  mean  the  priceless  gift  of  mutual  first  love. 
There  is  nothing  on  the  good  brown  earth  like  it, 
or  in  the  high  Heaven  either,  as  far  as  we  know ; 
and  it's  as  hard  to  find  as  the  crock  of  gold  at  the 
rainbow's  foot.  .  .  .  Now  tell  me  all  about  your 
Jeremy." 

With  little  reticences  and  shynesses  gradually 
shed  Desiree  drew  such  a  picture  of  her  lover  as 
perhaps  only  his  mother  would  have  recognized 
of  all  who  knew  him. 

Lord  Garry  sighed  when  she  had  finished. 

"Has  he  no  redeeming  vices,  then?  No  saving 
tempers  or  trivialities?  No  characteristic  rough- 
ness? My  poor  child,  you  have  depicted  a  man 
as  smooth  as  butter,  and  as  uninteresting. ' ' 

Desiree  reddened.     "You're  laughing  at  him!'* 

"Heaven  fcrefend!"  exclaimed  Lord  Garry, 
making  the  sign  of  the  horns. 

At  the  old  familiar  trick  she  laughed  too.  The 
atmosphere  cleared. 

"I  merely  meant  to  imply  that  your  Jeremy 
could  not  be  what  my  old  nurse  used  to  call  a 
'cock  angel'!  '  Men  are  men,  not  cock  angels, ' 
she  often  told  my  mother,  and  she  used  to  squash 
my  rising  conceit   by  informing  me   that  'you 


Lord  Garry  Returns  291 

needn't  think  you're  a  cock  angel,  Master  Ludlow, 
for  you're  not!'  As  Jeremy  must  be  'a  son  of 
Adam  and  of  Eve,'  like  the  rest  of  us,  I  beg  for  some 
tiniest  flaw  to  prove  his  humanity." 

Desiree  did  not  answer  at  once.  After  a  pause, 
during  which  Lord  Garry  wondered  what  mark 
his  random  whimsicalities  had  hit,  she  admitted 
without  looking  at  him : 

"Jeremy  has  a — I  don't  know  if  you'd  call  it  a 
flaw  exactly.     Judy  says  it's  a  crank." 

"That's  encouraging,"  he  returned  with  a  sigh 
of  relief.  "Reveal  it  to  me  at  once,  so  that  I 
may  take  him  to  my  bosom,  as  I  never  could  have 
done  your  butter  man,  Dede." 

He  wondered  anew  why  her  cheeks  should  flame 
and  her  tongue  falter  as  she  told  him  of  Jeremy's 
idiosyncracy  with  regard  to  debt. 

"He  changes  absolutely  when  he  gets  on  the 
subject, ' '  she  went  on.  "  The  Jeremy  I  know  van- 
ishes and  a  hard  stem  stranger  takes  his  place. 
It's  just  as  if  he  suddenly  clanged  an  iron  door 
between  you  and  his  niceness.  The  iron  door  is 
all  you  see  and  it's  rather — rather  frightening," 
she  2nded  childishly. 

"You  must  find  the  key  to  it." 

"Oh,  how  can  I?  How  can  I?"  she  cried 
piteously,  half  rising  from  her  chair. 

"Love  has  keys  to  fit  every  lock,"  he  said 
gently. 

"But  supposing  I  don't  even  see  where  the  key- 
hole is?" 


292  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"You  must  make  him  show  you.  .  .  .  Dede, 
dear,  Love  plays  many  tricks  upon  his  votaries. 
One  of  them  is  to  wrap  the  beloved  in  an  im- 
possibly golden  haze,  so  that  you  cannot  see  any 
human  angles  or  imperfections.  With  marriage 
familiarity  comes  like  a  rushing  wind  and  blows 
the  haze  away,  so  that  all  is  revealed  with  startling 
clearness.  If  your  love  is  the  real  thing  it  will 
stand  the  test.  If  not — out  through  the  window 
it  flies!  .  .  .  That  was  what  happened  to  my 
marriage,"  he  continued  after  a  pause.  "It  was 
all  glamour.     When  that  went  nothing  was  left." 

Suddenly  Desiree's  thoughts  switched  to  her 
discovery  at  Frayne.  "Oh,  Cousin  Ludlow,  I 
met  her.     Your  wife,  I  mean." 

"Camilla?  Where?"  He  drew  himself  up  in 
astonishment. 

"At  Frayne." 

"Who  took  her  there?*'  he  asked,  with  a  frown. 

"She  was  staying  in  the  house.  Judy  asked 
her." 

"Staying  at  Frayne?  Did  Monica  know  who 
she  was?" 

"She  knew  that  she  had  been  divorced,  but  not 
who  her  first  husband  had  been.  They  didn't 
seem  to  mind  much " 

Lord  Garry's  lips  drew  together  in  a  hard  line. 
"Monica  Bland  is  impossibly  slack.  ...  I  felt 
that  Camilla  would  spin  herself  back  into  society 
somehow." 

"Spin?" 


Lord  Garry  Returns  293 

"I  called  her  a  tornado  to  you.  I  changed  the 
metaphor  after.  She  is  more  like  a  top,  which 
must  spin  or  die.  Once  she  stops  spinning  she  will 
die."     His  tone  rang  with  half- amused  contempt. 

"She  hasn't  stopped  spinning  yet,"  said 
Desiree,  smiling  in  spite  of  herself  at  the  remem- 
brance of  Princess  Pafnuty's  ceaseless  activities. 

' '  Was — the  man  there  ? " 

"  Prince  Pafnuty?     No." 

"How  did  you  find  out  who  she  was?" 

"It  was  the  last  night  I  was  there.  The  night 
—  "  She  stopped,  caught  her  breath  and  went  on 
again.  "I  wore  your  star  sapphire.  She  recog- 
nized it,  flew  at  me  like  a  little  fury,  and  said  it 
was  hers.  .  .  .  Then,  after  a  bit  she  laughed  and 
spoke  of  you — wanted  to  know  how  you  had  worn  ? 
Such  insolence ! " 

"What  did  you  say?" 

'  *  I  refused  to  answer  her  because  she  had  treated 
you  so  badly.  Then  people  came.  There  was  a 
dinner-party, "  you  see. ' ' 

"I  see."  He  took  her  hand  again.  "My 
gallant  little  champion!  But  you  needn't  have 
minded  so  much  for  me,  Dede.  She  never  really 
hurt  me.  She  only  stung:  and  the  smart  passed 
away  long  ago.  ..."  He  rose.  "I  should  like  to 
see  your  father  before  I  go.  Do  you  think  he 
would  see  me?" 

Desiree  sprang  up  and  laid  her  hands  on  his 
arm.  It  seemed  to  him  that  there  was  a  quite 
disproportionate  entreaty  in  her  gaze. 


294  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"No,  no,"  she  said  quickly,  while  her  breath 
fluttered  as  if  she  had  been  running.  "Not 
today — not  today." 

"Very  well,  dear  child.  I  don't  want  to  force 
myself  on  him,"  he  answered  with  some  surprise. 

"It's  only  that — only  that — he  has  just  had  an 
interview  with  mother's  lawyer,  Mr.  Bamet, 
and  it — it  upset  him  rather.     I — he ' ' 

"I  quite  understand.     Perhaps  tomorrow." 

"Yes.   Yes.    Tomorrow.    Cousin  Ludlow " 


"Yes,  Dede?"  Poor  child,  she  was  completely 
unnerved.  No  wonder  after  all  she  had  been 
through ! 

"It's  only — I  must  see  you  before  you  see  him. 
...  I  have  something — to  ask.  To  tell  you. 
..."  She  broke  off,  and  leaned  against  his 
shoulder  for  a  moment,  her  voice  half-choked. 
Her  agitation,  causeless  though  it  seemed  to  him, 
was  pitiful. 

"Yes,  my  dear  little  girl.  You  know  I'd  do 
anything  I  could  for  you.  Shall  I  come  here  or 
will  you  come  out  to  me  ? ' '  He  spoke  as  soothingly 
as  he  could,  wondering  what  she  wanted  of  him. 

"Oh,  come  here.  ...  I  can't  go — I  haven't 
been — anywhere  yet. ' ' 

Tangled  as  she  was  in  the  money-web  she  could 
not  draw  him  into  it  now.  They  had  been  too 
near  each  other's  sacred  places  today  to  tarnish 
confidence  with  the  touch  of  the  sordid.  She  felt 
that  she  must  have  the  breathing-space  of  a  night 
between  her  and  confession.    She  was  already, 


Lord  Garry  Returns  295 

and   unwillingly,   in   the  throes  of  a  conviction 
which  threatened  to  overpower  her.     She  must 
have  some  hours  in  which  to  face  it  alone  before 
she  could  come  to  any  definite  conclusion. 
Lord  Garry  stooped  and  kissed  her  forehead. 
"When  would  you  like  me  to  come?" 
"In   the   morning,"    she   answered.     "I   shall 
have  more  courage  then." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


CONFESSION 


"So  you  see  from  beginning  to  end  it  was  all 
myfaiilt." 

Desiree  stood  before  Lord  Garry  with  nervously 
working  fingers,  having  told  the  whole  story, 
extenuating  nothing. 

He  put  his  hands  on  her  shoulders  and  looked 
into  her  eyes,  astonished  beyond  measure  by  her 
confession. 

"And  it  means  never  again,  as  far  as  you  are 
concerned?  "  he  asked,  searching  her  face. 

"Never  again!"  she  cried,  her  whole  heart  in 
her  eyes.     * '  Oh,  never,  never  again ! " 

' '  My  poor  little  girl,  it  has  been  a  bitter  lesson,  " 
he  said  in  a  tired  voice.  "Now  I  think  the  rest 
lies  between  your  father  and  myself." 

She  caught  at  his  arm.  "No,  you  mustn't  go 
yet.  Tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  do.  If 
you  can't  help  us  I  must  think — I  have  thought 
of  something  else."     Her  voice  sharpened. 

"Why  should  you  think  I  could  not  help  you? " 

A  fragment  of  long-ago  conversation  flashed 
back  into  Desiree's  mind. 

296 


Confession  297 

"I  remember — mother — saying  once  that  your 
title  was  a  poor  one :  that  you  had  not  very  much 
money,  as  money  counts  in  England." 

"That's  quite  true,"  he  returned  gravely. 
' '  Most  of  my  money  is  sunk  in  Bressy  industries 
which  bring  in  a  slow  return.  Still,  I  ought  to  be 
able  to  lay  my  hands  on  three  hundred  pounds 
to  save  a  friend's  good  name.  .  .  .  Tell  me, 
Dede,  what  was  the  alternative?  Did  you  think 
of  selling  the  star  sapphire?" 

She  recoiled  from  him,  all  her  drooping  pride  in 
arms. 

' '  Sell  your  gift  ?  Such  a  thought  never  occurred 
to  me.  No."  Her  words  came  with  difficulty. 
Her  white  cheeks  flushed  a  painful  red.  "I — I 
thought  that  if  you  could  not  help  us  I  would — I 
would  tell — Jeremy,  and — and  ask  him  to  lend 
it  to  us.     He — has  plenty  of  money,  I  believe." 

Lord  Garry  looked  keenly  at  her.  "What  do 
you  think  the  result  would  be?"  he  asked  slowly. 

"He  would  lend  the  money — and  never  speak 
to  me  again, "  she  cried  with  passionate  intensity. 

"You  really  believe  that?" 

"I  really  believe  that." 

"And  you  would  face  it  for  your  father's  sake? '" 

Desiree's  head  went  up.  "You  forget  what  he 
faces  for  mine.  You  don't  know  what  this  means 
to  him.  He  is  so  proud,  so  sensitive.  If  it  killed 
me — and  it  almost  would,  I  think — I'd  do  it." 

"By  Gad,  you  have  pluck!"  His  lined  weary 
eyes    shone    with    sudden    admiration.     "Race 


298  The  Beloved  Sinner 

tells.  You  are  a  Massarei^e  of  Massarenes."  His 
voice  softened  curiously.  "Desiree,  don't  you 
know  that  anything  I  have  to  give  lies  at  the  ser- 
vice of  those  whom  your  mother  loved?" 

The  revulsion  of  feeUng  was  too  much  for  her. 
For  a  moment  she  clung  to  his  arm. 

"Don't  tell  your  Jeremy,"  the  kind  worldly 
voice  went  on.  "If  he  feels  like  that  confession 
might  only  shake  his  trust  in  you.  He  would 
forgive  but  not  forget." 

"Yes,  he  said  that  those  whom  he  couldn't 
trust  were  wiped  out  of  his  life,"  she  whispered, 
shivering. 

"He  might  be  implacable.  Good  men  can  be 
as  hard  as  good  women.  I  shouldn't  risk  it,  if  I 
were  you.  It  is  all  very  well  to  talk  of  hating  the 
sin  and  loving  the  sinner,  but  the  average  man  finds 
it  very  difficult  to  disassociate  the  two.  If  one 
has  loved  and  understood  the  sinner  beforehand 
— !  But  you  tell  me  he  worships  an  ideal  you!" 
he  broke  off. 

"I'm  afraid  he  does,"  said  Desiree,  with  a 
catch  in  her  voice.  "I've  begged  him  not  to.' 
I've  told  him  over  and  over  again  how  full  of 
faults  and  flaws  I  am,  but  he  won't  see  it." 

"Of  course  he  won't.  I  should  think  very 
poorly  of  him  if  he  did.  Still,  it  complicates  the 
question  of  your  telling  him." 

'  *  You  really  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  ? " 

' '  I  wish  I  knew  him, ' '  Lord  Garry  mused. 
"One  look  at  the  fellow  would  tell  me  more  about 


Confession  299 

him  than  all  your  descriptions.  After  all,  the 
thing  is  over  and  done  with.  It  happened  prac- 
tically before  he  came  into  your  life.  It's  in  the 
family  so  far.  Better  let  it  remain  so.  Don't 
look  hurt.    Your  Jeremy's  not  in  the  family  yet." 

"He  wants  to  be  as  soon  as  possible." 

"The  deuce  he  does!  He's  to  spring  out  of  the 
blue  one  fine  morning,  I  suppose,  with  a  special 
licence  in  his  pocket  and  flourish  it  at  you  with  a 
'  Your  wedding  or  your  life  ? '     Eh  ? ' ' 

"Something  of  that  sort, "  she  answered  with  a 
wan  little  smile. 

"Well!    Well!     It's  a  green  marriage  I  wish 
you,   child.     But  for  the  perfect  blending  there 
must  be  mutual  trust.  •  You  are  worthy  of  any 
man's  trust,  Dede,  in  spite  of  the  past.     I  should, 
honestly  advise  you  not  to  risk  upsetting  his." 

"You  really  would?"  His  advice  chimed  so 
aptly  with  her  desires  that  she  longed  to  think  it 
right.     ' '  Really  and  truly  ? ' ' 

"Really  and  truly." 

"You  don't  think  it  would  be  unfair  to  him ? " 

"Don't  you  intend  to  try  to  live  up  to  his  ideal 
of  you?" 

"I  do.     Indeed  I  do,"  she  cried  fervently. 

"A  wiser  than  I  has  said:  'Man  serves  woman 
kneeling.  When  he  gets  on  his  feet  he  goes  away. ' 
Do  you  think  your  Jeremy  is  the  sort  who  would 
go  away?" 

As  Lord  Garry  spoke  Desiree  thought  of  the 
many  facets  of  Jeremy's  character  as  she  knew  it: 


300  The  Beloved  Sinner 

his  power  of  idealization,  his  worship  of  her,  his 
delicacy  of  perception,  his  inflexible  will,  his 
strange  steely  hardness.  The  pendulum-swing 
from  idealization  would  be  disgust.  There  were 
no  half -measures  about  Jeremy.  By  the  heights 
of  his  love  she  could  measure  the  depths  of  his 
despisal. 

"Yes,"  she  answered,  hopelessly.  "I'm  afraid 
he  would." 

"Silence  is  one  of  the  virtues  of  the  wise.  Be 
wise,  otherwise  silent  in  this  instance." 

She  did  not  answer  immediately.  Then  she 
said  very  low : 

"Thank  you.  Cousin  Ludlow.  .  .  .  I  know  that 
• — mother  would  thank  you  for  all  you've  done  for 
us  today. " 

'  *  I  hope  that  she  has  something  better  to  do  than 
bother  about  such  pettinesses  any  more, "  he  said 
with  an  unwonted  touch  of  sharpness.  "Does 
your  father  expect  me ?  Do  you  think  he'd  see  me 
now?" 

"Yes.  I  told  him  you  were  coming.  You — 
you'll — see  a  change  in  him.  He  is  very — broken. 
J — never  saw  him — ^humiliated — before.  He  is 
now.  It's  all  my  doing.  I  can't  bear  it."  She 
stopped  abruptly  and  turned  away. 

' '  Poor  child ! "  he  said  very  gently.  He  pressed 
her  hand  and  went  away,  strangely  reluctant  to 
face  the  interview  before  him. 

Pity  and  sympathy  warred  with  the  old  disso- 
nance of  temperament  between  him  and  Noel  Has- 


Confession  301 

ard.  Traced  to  its  source,  one  would  have  found 
some  remnant  of  primitive  man  beneath  the  layers 
of  outer  civilization  in  each :  that  primal  instinct, 
the  need  of  man  for  his  mate,  the  imdying  spark 
of  jealousy  of  him  who  has,  in  him  who  has  not. 
Civilization  may  cloak  and  curb  these  passions, 
but  primitive  man  is  hard  to  kill. 

Within  Desiree  primitive  woman  struggled 
with  her  new-found  soul.  When  Lord  Garry 
left  her  she  ran  out  of  the  room  like  a  hunted 
thing  across  the  garden,  a  lovely  tangle  of  un- 
tidiness, and  into  the  Yew  Garden,  whose  with- 
ered roses  bent  dry,  reproachful  heads  before  her. 
She  had  never  yet  seen  withered  roses  in  the 
pleasance.  Her  mother  had  always  cut  them 
off  when  the  blooms  faded.  Here  was  something 
she  could  do  to  occupy  the  moments  when  her 
heart  was  in  the  study,  quailing  before  the  shame 
that  she  knew  her  father  was  enduring.  Her 
shame.  .  .  .  The  bitter  shame  she  could  not  bear 
for  him.  .  .  . 

She  went  into  the  house  to  fetch  a  basket  and 
scissors.  Something  in  the  mechanical  "clip, 
clip"  and  the  faint  sweetness  of  the  dropping 
heads,  with  here  and  there  an  unfaded  streak  of 
pink  or  crimson  among  the  dry  cinnamon-coloured 
petals,  soothed  her  frayed  nerves.  At  the  back  of 
her  mind  her  former  conviction  still  lurked,  ready 
to  leap  out  upon  her  the  moment  she  relaxed 
her  vigilance.  It  had  kept  her  company  through 
the  night :  it  had  shadowed  her  early  waking  hours : 


302  The  Beloved  Sinner 

it  had  crouched,  but  only  for  a  spring,  she  felt, 
during  her  interview  with  Lord  Garry.  His 
advice  had  stunned  it  for  a  moment,  but  it  was 
not  dead.  It  was  not  even  unconscious.  It  was 
still  there,  growing  in  vigour  with  each  passing 
moment:  the  conviction  that,  come  what  might, 
she  would  never  know  true  happiness  or  peace  of 
mind  if  she  married  Jeremy  with  a  secret  between 
them. 

In  spite  of  Lord  Garry's  soothing  counsel,  she 
felt  to  her  innermost  fibre  that  it  would  not  be 
fair  to  Jeremy  to  let  him  marry  her  without 
knowing  that  she  had  done  the  very  thing  he 
most  despised.  If  he  had  not  felt  so  strongly  on 
the  subject  she  would  not  be  so  convinced  that 
she  must  tell  him.  It  would  not  have  mattered 
so  vitally  as  it  did  now.  If,  in  his  sternness,  he 
were  a  stranger  to  her,  then  she,  in  her  erring,  was 
equally  a  stranger  to  him.  She  must  not  let  him 
marry  a  stranger.  He  had  said  that  they  were 
only  learning  each  other.  ...  In  any  study 
one  had  to  learn  difficult  as  well  as  easy  things. 
The  point  at  issue  now  was,  would  he  care  to 
learn  any  more  once  he  had  come  to  such  a  stum- 
bling-block? 

She  tried  to  put  herself  in  his  place,  to  see  with 
his  eyes,  to  judge  with  his  mind,  but  to  no  avail. 
She  was  up  against  that  separating  wall  of  non- 
comprehension  against  which  humanity  has  so 
often  beaten  pleading  hands  in  vain.  She  realized 
for  the  first  time  how  pitifully  little  any  human 


Confession  303 

being  knows  of  any  other.     Words  she  had  once 
read  flashed  across  her  mind : 

Not  e'en  the  dearest  heart  and  next  our  own 
Knows  half  the  reasons  why  we  smile  or  sigh. 

Jeremy  was  the  dearest  heart  and  next  her  own, 
but — if  he  got  up  from  his  kneeling  would  he"  walk 
away?  Would  he?  Would  he?  .  .  .  That  was 
the  crux. 

She  closed  her  eyes  upon  the  still  garden  where 
she  had  known  moments  of  exquisite  joy  and  saw 
his  hard  implacable  face,  the  steely  glint  in  his 
grey  eyes.  If  he  should  change  like  that  to  her! 
.  .  .  But  why  should  he  not?  What  spell  had 
she  to  prevent  him? 

To  be  wiped  out  of  his  life?  How  could  she 
bear  it?  .  .  .  But  how  could  she  bear  to  enter 
it,  knowing  that  he  believed  her  to  be  other  than 
she  was  ? 

She  dropped  the  basket  of  dead  roses,  once 
beautiful  as  her  hopes  had  been.  Were  they 
emblematical  of  what  in  future  would  be  only 
faintly  scented  memories?  Was  love  to  wither 
before  she  knew  its  fulness?  Love!  .  .  .  She 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  the  faded  blooms 
scattered  at  her  feet.  In  that  moment  of  self- 
revelation  she  saw  with  startling  clarity. 

Love,  "terrible  as  an  army  with  banners," 
raised  his  oriflamme  high  above  the  dusty  road 
of  desire,  pointing,  constraining   to  the  heights. 


304  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Love,  with  his  flaming  sword,  barred  the  way  to 
any  cheaply  won  Paradise.  In  the  fire  on  his 
mighty  altar  he  bade  her  lay  humbly  the  dross  of 
Self,  the  easy  purchase-price  of  possible  bliss,  the 
ultimate  sacrifice  of  renunciation.  .  .  . 

Yes.  She  would  tell  Jeremy.  She  could  do  no 
more.  She  dared  do  no  less  .  .  .  because  she 
loved  him. 

With  the  resolution  calm  enfolded  her  at  last. 
If  Jeremy  cast  her  off  she  would  at  least  have  won 
peace  and  a  clean  soul.  She  felt  that  she  would 
know  neither  if  she  let  him  marry  her  in  ignorance. 
The  price?  .  .  .  She  did  not  dare  to  think  of  that. 
She  knew  now  that  debts  must  be  paid,  no  matter 
how  tremendous  the  cost.  This  was  a  debt  which 
she  owed  to  the  man  whom  she  loved  more  than 
herself. 

"Thou  shall  not  steal!'* 


CHAPTER  XXV 

"thou  SHALT  NOT  STEAL !" 

Sympathy  sprang  uppermost  in  Lord  Garry's 
mind  as  he  took  Noel  Hasard's  half-reluctant 
hand.  Desiree  had  but  spoken  the  truth  when 
she  said  that  he  was  changed.  The  alteration  in 
him  was  pitifully  marked.  His  face  was  lined  and 
ashen,  his  cheeks  sunk,  his  shoulders  bent.  His 
whole  personality  seemed  to  have  shrunk.  He  had 
lost  all  trace  of  his  former  proud  bearing.  It  was 
an  old  shaken  man  who  faced  his  wife's  kinsman, 
whom  he  had  robbed,  as  he  told  himself  bitterly. 

"You  know?"  he  asked  hesitantly.  Even  his 
voice  had  changed.  It  had  lost  its  former  beautiful 
timbre  and  sounded  dry  and  strained. 

* '  Desiree  has  told  me, ' '  Lord  Garry  said  quietly. 
Then,  with  repressed  feeling :  ' '  Never  mind  about 
the  wretched  money.  .  .  .  Hasard,  you  know 
how " 

"Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  Everyone  has  been  very 
kind.  ...  I  can't  talk  about  it."  He  moved 
restlessly  in  his  chair.  "Let  us  go  back  to  the 
wretched  money,  as  you  call  it.  The  money  I 
have  stolen  from  you." 

ao  305 


3o6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Out  of  the  depth  of  his  own  reticence  Lord 
Garry  respected  the  reticence  of  the  other.  He 
followed  his  cue. 

"The  money  I  should  have  lent  willingly  had  I 
known  you  were  in  need  of  it." 

"You  put  it — charitably,"  said  the  Rector 
with  difficulty.  "In  my  long  ministry  I  have 
never  cloaked  sin  with  fair  words.  Why  should 
I  do  so  in  my  own  case?  .  .  .  Against  your  advice 
I  gave  young  Wing  the  commission  for  the  screen." 

"Yes.  ...  I  will  pay  three  hundred  pounds 
into  the  Restoration  Fimd  at  once." 

' '  Not  so  much.  There  is  about  fifty  poimds  in 
it  already." 

"Two-fifty,  then." 

"I  have  never  even  borrowed  money  before," 
Noel  Hasard  broke  out.  "I  have  always  had  a 
horror  of  debt.  I  have  looked  upon  theft  as  the 
meanest  of  vices.  .  .  .  Perhaps  it  was  necessary 
for  my  pride  to  be  brought  low.  It  trails  in  the 
dust  now." 

"Look  here,  Hasard,  I  think  you  take  an  exag- 
gerated view  of  things.  It  is  your  misfortune 
rather  than  your  fault  that  you  are  obliged  to 
borrow  money  now.  An  unlucky  chain  of  cir- 
cumstances  ' ' 

' '  Have  combined  to  make  me  a  thief  in  my  own 
eyes,"  he  interrupted.  "How  can  I  minister  to 
my  people  ?  How  can  I  read  the  eighth  command- 
ment to  them  when  I  know  that  I  myself  have 
broken  it?    Try  to  gloze  it  over  as  you  will,  the 


''Thou  Shalt  Not  Steal!"        307 

fact  remains  that  I  have  committed  the  very  sin 
for  which  I  blamed  poor  Tom  Herring." 

"I  have  heard  from  Mrs.  Herring,  herself, 
how  good  you  were  to  Tom.  She  had  tears  in  her 
eyes  when  she  spoke  of  it.  Why  should  you  deny 
to  others  the  charity  and  tolerance  which  you 
exercise  so  liberally  yourself?" 

"Deny  it?  God  knows  I  have  need  of  every 
grain  of  it,  bitter  need, "  the  Rector  said  in  a  tone 
which  was  like  a  cry.  * '  I  only  hope  that  my  people 
will  judge  me  less  hardly  than  I  judge  myself." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Lord  Garry's  pity 
was  brought  up  with  a  jerk  by  the  last  words. 
"No  one  outside  ourselves  need  know." 

"Everyone  must  know.  Do  you  think  I  could 
find  peace  or  rest  until  I  have  made  public  confes- 
sion?" Some  of  the  martyr's  fire  burned  in  the 
sunken  eyes.  "Confession  is  one  of  the  tenets 
of  our  Chtirch.  A  first  step  towards  repentance. 
How  am  I  to  minister  to  my  people  until  I  can 
do  so  with  clean  hands  and  a  clean  and  contrite 
heart?" 

"Hasard,  are  you  mad?"  said  Lord  Garry 
tersely. 

"Sane  at  last,  I  hope  and  trust,"  the  strained 
voice  went  on.  "Surely  you  do  not  think  it  has 
cost  me  nothing  to  come  to  this  decision.  I  tell 
you  I  have  felt  that  I  would  rather  go  to  the  stake 
than  face  the  people  whom  I  have  tried  to  uplift, 
the  people  whose  standards  I  have  tried  to  raise, 
the  people  among  whom  I  have  held  my  head  so 


3o8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

high,  and  tell  them  that  I,  their  Rector,  am  a 
thief!" 

"Hasard,  this  is  preposterous,"  cried  Lord 
Garry  aghast.  "It  is  absolutely  out  of  the 
question.     You  cannot  do  such  a  thing." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"I  say  so." 

"But  if  God  bids  otherwise?" 

Silence  fell  as  the  two  white  determined  faces 
gazed  at  each  other.     Then  Lord  Garry  spoke. 

"I  mean  no  irreverence  when  I  say  that  I  don't 
believe  that  God  bids  you  to  do  any  such  thing." 

"Do  you  dare  to  consider  yourself  His  mouth- 
piece?" 

"He  chooses  strange  messengers  sometimes," 
said  Lord  Garry  slowly,  the  old  discordant  note 
rasping  across  their  intercourse. 

"Forgive  me  for  doubting  that  you  are  one  of 
them,"  said  Noel  Hasard  with  icy  aloofness. 
"From  my  long  knowledge  of  you,  you  seem  to 
me  to  be  one  who  has  always  deliberately  chosen 
the  easy  path." 

Lord  Garry  controlled  his  rising  anger.  "The 
stony  way  is  not  invariably  the  right  one." 

"The  easy  path  never." 

"I  beg  to  differ  from  you." 

"We  have  never  really  agreed.  .  .  .  Each 
man  must  see  through  his  own  eyes.  There  is  no 
use  in  trying  to  force  your  point  of  view  on  me." 

"I — "  Lord  Garry  began,  then  altered  the 
form  of  his  protest.     "Have  you  considered  for  a 


'•Thou  Shalt  Not  Steal!"        309 

moment  what  the  consequences  of  such  an  act 
as  you  propose  would  be? " 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"I  mean — oh,  it's  all  such  a  confounded  tangle. 
Even  if  you  had  stolen  the  money,  which  you 
haven't — you  merely  borrowed  it  as  many  another 
man  has  been  obliged  to  do  by  stress  of  circum- 
stance— these  stupid  Bressy  people  would  be  sure  to 
misunderstand  your  motives  for  confession.  They 
would  fail  to  see  any  idealism  in  it.  A  stigma  would 
attach  to  your  name  which  would  always  reflect 
on  those  who  loved  you."  He  stopped,  searching 
for  words  sufficiently  forcible.  Then  went  on: 
"As  it  is,  it  seems  something  of  an  anti-climax  to 
think  of  your  standing  up  in  the  pulpit,  and 
confessing  that  you  borrowed  money  from  me 
without  going  through  the  formality  of  asking 
my  permission,  which  is  what  it  all  amounts  to." 

"You  put  the  matter  in  a  distorted  form. 
You  stand  by  the  letter.     Ethically " 

"Ethically  be  hanged!  It  is  you  who  stand 
by  the  letter,  not  I,"  cried  Lord  Garry,  now 
thoroughly  roused.  "I  say  it's  a  damned  self- 
ish way  of  earning  martyrdom  at  other  people's 
expense." 

"At  whose  expense?"  asked  Noel  Hasard 
faintly,  across  the  gulf  that  yawned  between  them. 

"At  Desiree's,  for  one,"  Lord  Garry  answered. 
"Hasn't  she  suffered  enough  already,  poor  plucky 
little  soul,  without  dragging  that  additional  shame 
and  humiliation  upon  her  ?     No,  you  can't  martyr- 


3IO  The  Beloved  Sinner 

ize  yourself  without  martyrizing  her,  Hasard.  I 
tell  you  I  won't  have  it." 

"You  won't  have  it?  May  I  ask  how  you  im- 
agine you  can  prevent  me  from  doing  what  my 
conscience  tells  me  is  right?" 

Then  Lord  Garry  fell  to  a  depth  to  which  he 
had  never  before  descended  in  a  long  and  honour- 
able life. 

* '  I  can  refuse  to  let  you  have  the  money  for  the 
screen,"  he  returned  slowly,  "and  leave  you  to 
find  your  own  way  out  of  the  slough. " 

Noel  Hasard  looked  at  him  with  bitter  contempt 
for  an  instant.  "I  did  not  think  you  would  have 
sunk  to  blackmail, ' '  he  said.  ' '  This  is  spirit — real 
blackmail .  You  wish  to  buy  my  silence  at  a  price. ' ' 
Then  his  gaze  wavered.  "Who  am  I  that  I 
should  condemn  another?  This  is  an  unclean 
business,  whatever  way  you  look  at  it." 

"Your  point  of  view  is  exaggerated,"  Lord 
Garry  answered,  his  unusual  anger  cooling  as 
quickly  as  it  had  arisen.  "I  am  sorry  that  I  let 
my  temper  get  the  better  of  me  just  now.  That 
sort  of  folly  belongs  rather  to  youth  than  to  old 
age  like  ours.  .  .  .  Let  us  settle  the  matter  once 
for  all.  You  will  curb  your  desire  for  confession. 
No  one  outside  this  house  need  ever  hear  a  word 
of  the  affair.  As  for  the  wretched  money,  you  can 
repay  me  at  your  leisure." 

"Be  sure  that  I  shall  do  so  to  the  uttermost 
farthing." 

Lord  Garry  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  said 


*'Thou  Shalt  Not  Steal!"        311 

tentatively:  "As  regards  the  original  cheque — 
won't  you  let  me  give  that  to  Desiree  as  a  little 
wedding-present?  After  all,  I'm  her  godfather, 
you  know.     There  are  privileges " 

"It  is  mine  to  pay  for  my  daughter's  clothes 
as  long  as  she  remains  under  my  roof." 

"You  might  let  me,  Hasard.  Look  here — I 
know  I  was  brutal,  but  I  didn't  mean  it.  You 
frightened  me  with  your  talk  of  public  confession. 
I  believe  you'll  come  round  to  my  way  of  thinking 
when  you  consider  things  quietly." 

"What  do  you  think  I've  been  doing  for  the 
past  two  endless  days?"  asked  Noel  Hasard, 
with  a  look  of  sudden  anguish.  "What  do  you 
think  you've  left  me  to  do  when  you  go?  .  .  . 
Count  over  my  thirty  pieces  of  silver? " 

"Hasard!'' 

"Forgive  me  if  I'm  bitter, "  he  returned  faintly. 
* '  No  amount  of  explanation  could  make  you  under- 
stand what  I  feel.  We  are  each  speaking  different 
languages  through  a  fog.  We  can  hear  each  other's 
voices,  but  that  is  all;  neither  can  even  see  the 
other  clearly." 

"Hasard — "  Lord  Garry  spoke  with  difficulty. 
"Hasard — try  to  believe  me  when  I  say  that — 
the  person  for  whose  sake  I — spoke  as  I  did  today 
— was — Brigid. ' ' 

The  name  broke  his  self-control  at  last. 

"Leave  her  out  of  it!"  Noel  Hasard  gave  a 
sudden  great  cry.  "It  was  to  be  fit  to  meet  her 
again  that  I —  "  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands.  .  .  . 


312  The  Beloved  Sinner 

After  a  little  Lord  Garry  rose  and  went  quietly 
away.  The  grief  of  the  two  men  ran  on  parallel 
lines:  it  could  never  meet.  The  breach  today 
seemed  wider  than  ever.  She  who  had  been  as  a 
bridge  between  them  held  out  a  connecting  hand 
to  each  no  longer. 

Today  for  the  first  time  Ludlow  Garry  fully 
realized  that  she  had  gone  out  of  his  Ufe  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
leander's  wings 

Desir^e  sat  at  the  desk  in  the  dining-room 
with  an  empty  telegraph-form  before  her,  nibbHng 
the  end  of  a  pen-handle  and  reading,  with  evident 
agitation,  a  prepaid  telegram  which  had  just  come 
from  Jeremy.  Jane  stood  by  the  door  waiting 
for  the  answer,  an  image  of  determined  patience. 

"You  needn't  wait,  Jane.  I'll  take  the  answer 
to  the  boy  myself,"  she  said  at  last.  "I  can't 
think  when  you're  standing  there." 

When  Jane  had  obligingly  vanished  she  reread 
the  pink  slip  for  the  tenth  time. 

*  *  Motoring  Bressy  tomorrow  can  you  marry  me 
Thursday.    Jeremy. ' ' 

Its  suddenness  took  her  breath  away.  He  gave 
her  so  little  time,  even  to  think.  She  could  not 
stop  him.  She  could  not  say  in  a  telegram  that 
she  would  not  marry  him,  when  she  had  already 
promised  to  do  so  whenever  he  wished.  She 
could  not  make  confession  by  the  same  laconic 
means.  She  could  not  even  write  what  she  had 
to  say.  Instinct  told  her  that  any  chance  of 
forgiveness  she  had  would  be  doubly  strengthened 

313 


314  The  Beloved  Sinner 

by  the  appeal  of  her  actual  presence.  She  must 
let  him  come.  She  could  not  endure  the  rack  of 
suspense  much  longer.  On  the  other  hand  she 
dared  not  arrange  for  a  wedding  which  might  never 
take  place.  .  .  . 

After  much  bewildered  cogitation  she  evolved 
an  answer  at  last — "Come  as  early  as  you  can 
something  to  tell  you.  Desiree."  That  at  least 
was  preparatory,  even  if  it  had  no  other  merit. 
Unsatisfactory  as  it  was  she  determined  to  dally 
with  decision  no  longer.  She  folded  the  paper  and 
took  it  out  to  the  boy  who  stood  on  the  steps 
whistling  Tipper ary  between  his  teeth. 

As  he  took  the  form  from  her  and  turned  away 
she  suddenly  remembered  that  her  mother  had 
never  let  a  messenger-boy  go  away  empty-handed. 
He  had  always  had  cake,  fruit,  or  sweets,  which 
she  kept  in  a  special  jar  in  the  sideboard.  The 
jar  was  empty,  Desiree  knew,  but  there  were  other 
things  in  the  store-room. 

"Would  you  like  an  apple,  Billy?"  she  asked. 

"You  bet,  miss, "  answered  the  boy  cheerily. 

She  filled  his  pockets  and  watched  him  cycle 
down  the  avenue.  When  he  came  to  the  bend 
he  nearly  colUded  with  someone  who  was  coming 
quickly  towards  her.  It  was  Leander  Wing,  hat- 
less  as  usual. 

For  an  instant  Desiree  was  filled  with  a  wild 
impulse  for  flight.  She  shrank  from  seeing  stran- 
gers as  yet.  Even  such  old  friends  as  Mrs. 
Howard  and  Molly  seemed  to  be  still  far  outside 


Leander's  Wings  315 

her  life.  She  had  not  seen  Leander  Wing  since 
her  mother's  death.  He  had  written  and  she 
had  sent  a  Httle  note  of  thanks.  That  was 
all. 

With  an  effort  she  stood  her  ground.  She  could 
not  run  away  after  all  that  had  been  between  them. 
Her  promise  of  friendship  would  seem  to  mean 
very  little  if  she  could  deliberately  hurt  him  like 
that. 

At  sight  of  her  he  waved  his  hand  in  the  friendli- 
est fashion  and  broke  into  a  run. 

' '  Hide  for  your  life ! "  he  cried  as  soon  as  he  came 
within  earshot.  "Mrs.  Mawson  is  upon  you! 
I  heard  her  saying  to  Mrs.  Howard  as  I  passed 
that  she  was  going  to  ruai  into  the  Rectory,  and 
give  dear  Desiree  good  advice  on  the  subject  of 
rousing  herself!  So  I  thought  I'd  forestall  her 
and  warn  you.  I  cut  across  the  fields  and  ran 
all  the  way." 

"That  was  very  good  of  you,"  said  Desiree 
gratefully.  She  felt  that  she  could  not  face  Mrs. 
Mawson  just  now. 

"Where  shall  we  be  safe?" 

She  did  not  resent  his  assumption  that  he  should 
stay  with  her.  Of  all  the  outsiders  whom  she  had 
been  obliged  to  meet  with  her  wound  still  raw  he 
alone  did  not  jar.  He  had  written  his  sympathy. 
She  had  expressed  her  appreciation  of  it.  Now 
he  was  ordinary,  blessedly  ordinary.  In  spite  of 
his  exuberance  his  was  the  healing  touch  of  the 
normal. 


3i6  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"She  mustn't  know  that  I'm  here,"  he  went  on. 
"That  would  infuriate  her — with  you." 

His  thought  for  her  touched  Desiree.  "Let's 
go  to  the  orchard.  She  would  never  think  of 
looking  for  us  there.  She  is  quite  capable  of 
searching  the  garden,  though." 

"I'd  put  nothing  past  the  old  weasel,"  said 
Leander,  as  he  followed  her  into  the  house. 

They  crossed  the  hall  and  went  down  a  winding 
passage. 

"Wait  here  for  a  moment  until  I  tell  Jane  that 
I  am  not  at  home, "  said  Desiree,  pushing  open  a 
green  baize-covered  door. 

As  she  did  so  the  hall-door  bell  jangled  loudly. 

"What  a  woman!"  groaned  Leander.  "She 
nearly  had  us.     Wait.    Let's  hear  what  she  says." 

He  crept  to  the  end  of  the  passage  and  listened. 
Mrs.  Mawson's  sharp  inquisitive  tones  were  of  a 
penetrating  quality  and  reached  them  clearly. 

"Miss  Hasard  not  at  home?"  she  echoed  in  a 
voice  ringing  with  incredulity.  "Why,  I  met 
Billy  Lee,  the  telegraph-boy,  on  the  road  just  now 
and  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  here  and  that 
she  had  given  him  some  apples." 

"Really,  ma'am?"  answered  Jane  imperturb- 
ably. 

' '  Where  did  she  go  ?    Has  Mr.  Wing  been  here  ? ' ' 

"I  couldn't  say,  ma'am." 

"Are  you  sure  she  isn't  somewhere  about  the 
grounds?  I  think  I'll  have  a  look  round  the 
garden." 


Leander's  Wings  317 

.  "Quite  sure,  ma'am." 

"I  must  have  met  her  if  she  had  gone  out  on 
'the  road.  Unless  she  went  the  opposite  way. 
But  what  would  take  her  in  the  Darley  direction  ? ' ' 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know."  Jane  was  growing 
impatient. 

"The  poor  Rector!     Is  he  seeing  visitors  yet?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"He  ought  to  rouse  himself.  He  really  ought. 
Is  he  taking  duty  next  Sunday?  He  ought  to. 
The  longer  he  puts  it  off  the  harder  it  will  be. 
It  is  very  wrong  of  people  to  give  way  to  grief 
like  that.     It's  all  very  natural  for  a  time,  but " 

"Oh,  go  to  hell!"  said  Leander  Wing  savagely 
under  his  breath.  '  *  Come  along.  She's  a  poison- 
ous beast,  but  Jane  is  man  enough  for  her." 

He  slipped  his  hand  through  Desiree's  arm  and 
propelled  her  along  the  passage,  towards  a  little 
door  whose  upper  half  was  of  leaded  glass,  which 
opened  into  the  orchard.  He  drew  it  away  to  open 
the  door  for  her.  It  seemed  to  Desiree  that  he 
meant  to  show  her  that  his  promise  of  friendship 
had  been  no  empty  boast.  There  had  been  no 
thrill  of  passion  in  the  contact.  At  least  none  was 
perceptible  to  her.  Perhaps  Leander  might  have 
told  a  different  story. 

The  grass  was  long  and  green  in  the  orchard: 
the  early  apples  glowed  like  jewels  of  amber  and 
ruby  among  leaves  already  yellowing:  beneath 
the  gnarled  trees  brown  and  white  hens  pecked  at 
the  scattered  windfalls. 


3i8  The  Beloved  Sinner 

Desiree  led  the  way  to  an  old  tree  whose  low- 
growing  boughs  offered  easy  seating. 

"I  don't  believe  she  will  ever  think  of  coming 
here, "  she  said,  sitting  down  on  the  lowest  branch. 

Leander  swung  himself  to  a  higher  one  opposite 
her,  and,  picking  a  reddish  apple  began  to  eat  it. 
There  was  certainly  something  fawnlike  about  him, 
Desiree  thought:  something  freakish,  not  of  the 
every-day  world.  And  yet,  of  what  used  to  be  her 
every-day  world,  he  alone  did  not  jar.  How  was 
that?  For  the  first  time  she  was  conscious  of  a 
rapport  between  them. 

"This  is  the  Apple  of  Wisdom  I  am  eating, 
World's  Desire, "  he  said,  looking  at  her  with  half- 
closed  eyes.  "I  know  good  and  evil,  and  I  must 
choose  between  them.  .  .  .  Ye  gods,  how  bored 
I  shall  be  if  I  choose  the  good ! "  he  cried,  throwing 
away  the  core.  "It's  all  your  fault,  you  little 
golden  thing!  Why  did  you  sow  the  seeds  of 
wings  in  me?  They're  beginning  to  sprout,  and 
I  tell  you  they're  confoimdedly  uncomfortable! 
None  of  my  old  clothes  fit." 

"Get  new  ones,  then,"  Desiree  suggested,  not 
knowing  whether  he  was  talking  sense  or  nonsense, 
but  finding  him  oddly  soothing. 

"I'm  going  to, "  he  answered  in  rather  a  curious 
tone.  "Wait.  I'll  tell  you  in  a  minute.  First 
of  all — I've  seen  your  man." 

"Yes?"  she  breathed,  looking  quickly  up  at 
him. 

"He's  all  right.  .  .  .     He'll  be  good  to  you." 


Leander's  Wings  319 

She  paled  suddenly  and  caught  her  breath. 
"I  wonder!"  The  words  were  light  as  a  sigh, 
but  his  quick  ears  heard  them. 

"You're  not  beginning  to  regret?  If  so,  you 
mustn't  go  on  with  it.     If  you  doubt  him " 

"But  I  don't  doubt  him,"  she  cried,  breaking 
off  suddenly  as  she  realized  that  she  did.  ' '  Please 
go  on  talking.  .  .  .     I  can't  explain." 

"If  there's  any  trouble  between  you,"  began 
Leander  slowly. 

"I  never  said  there  was." 

"No,  but  I've  a  sixth  sense  where  you're  con- 
cerned. .  .  .  Perhaps  one  man  understands  an- 
other where  a  woman  wouldn't.  ...  I'll  say 
only  this.  He  struck  me  as  being  a  big  man — 
yours.  If — there  were  any  trouble  between  you," 
he  repeated  the  words  deliberately,  "I  think  you 
might  trust  him  to  take  big  views." 

Leander  had  risen  above  self  in  his  generous 
tribute  to  the  man  who  had  won  his  "World's 
Desire."  It  puzzled  him  to  see  no  responsive 
warmth  in  the  blue  eyes  that  met  his.  Wells  of 
sadness,  he  thought  them,  looking  deep  into  them 
until  he  had  the  odd  sense  of  losing  himself  in  their 
depths.     With  an  effort  he  pulled  himself  together. 

"You  don't  understand,"  she  cried,  turning 
away  her  head.     How  could  she  tell  him  ? 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't." 

"I  can't  explain." 

"Why  should  you?"  His  tone  was  a  little 
hurt. 


320  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"Dear  Leander, "  she  said,  impulsively  stretch- 
ing out  her  hand  to  him,  "if  I  could  tell  any  one 
it  would  be  you.  It — it  only  concerns  Jeremy 
and  me.  No  one  else  can  help.  If  they  could 
you  would  be  the  first  I  should  ask." 

"You  mean  that?"  he  said,  leaning  forward 
from  his  bough. 

"Yes,  indeed  I  mean  it." 

"Then  that's  all  right."  His  movement  stirred 
the  branch  above  him  and  shook  some  yellow 
leaves  down  on  his  hair.  He  looked  more  freakish 
than  ever.  "World's  Desire,"  he  said  suddenly, 
"when  the  screen  is  finished  I  am  going  to  fly." 

"FromBressy?" 

"Into  the  heavenly  blue, "  he  answered,  with  a 
queer  little  laugh. 

She  shook  a  puzzled  head.  "I  don't  under- 
stand." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  moment :  then 
spoke  in  an  odd,  shamefaced  way,  as  if  he  were 
apologizing  for  something  unexpressed. 

"Art  means  a  great  deal,  but  it's  not  the  whole 
of  life.     There  are  other  things  as  well." 

"What  do  you  mean  exactly?" 

"Oh,  all  the  old  clicMs.  The  things  that  are 
never  talked  about  except  on  the  stage." 

"For  example?" 

Leander  flushed  a  red  as  fiery  as  his  hair. 

"Well — honour,  and  all  that  rot,"  he  answered 
uncomfortably. 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  said  Desiree  after  a 


Leander's  Wings  321 

pause,,  "but  I  confess  that  I  don't  see  what  you're 
hinting  at." 

"Have  you  no  imagination?"  he  cried,  with 
one  of  his  old  large  gestures.  "Do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  stick  here  painting  in  safety  while — 
other  chaps  are  fighting  and — and  dying  in 
France?" 

"Are  you  going  to  be  a  soldier?"  asked  Desiree 
astonished.  "Why,  I  thought  you  despised  Eng- 
land and  the  English? " 

The  red  deepened,  but  his  eyes  met  hers  with 
the  same  queer  shamefaced  brightness. 

"Oh,  England's  all  right,"  he  said,  with  an 
obviously  forced  lightness.  "The  English  are 
stodgy  beggars,  of  course,  and  have  no  soul  for 
art — but — when  it  comes  to  a  fight — well,  my 
father  was  English,  you  know,  and  that  half 
pulls." 

"Oh,  Leander,  you're  a  dear!"  she  exclaimed 
half -laughing,  half- crying. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  he  answered  gruffly.  "But 
I'm  going  to  join  the  Flying  Corps  as  soon  as  I'm 
free." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

JEREMY  IS  TESTED 

' '  I  WONDER  if  men  really  understand  each  other 
better  than  a  woman  can,"  Desiree  asked  herself 
over  and  over  again  after  Leander's  visit.  In  her 
inmost  heart  she  felt  that  no  one  could  understand 
Jeremy  as  she  did. 

''He  is  a  big  man.  .  .  .  You  may  trust  him  to 
take  big  views.'' 

The  words  rang  in  her  ears  with  the  encourage- 
ment of  a  peal  of  bells.  ...  Of  wedding  bells? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Jeremy  would  be  able  to 
condone  her  misdoing?  Was  he  big  enough  to 
forgive  the  fault  he  most  condemned  in  one  in 
whom  he  placed  so  high  a  trust?  Must  she  be 
wiped  out  of  his  life?  Her  mind  was  a  tangle  of 
warring  possibilities,  which  she  tried  to  sort  into 
some  kind  of  coherence  until  her  tired  brain  spim, 
and  she  could  think  no  longer. 

Late  that  night  she  fell  into  the  heavy  dreamless 
sleep  of  exhaustion,  from  which  she  awoke  next 
morning  to  that  impassivity  which  is  one  of 
Nature's  gifts  to  those  who  at  last  face  the  in- 
evitable, with  the  hope  of  ultimately  reaching  the 

322 


Jeremy  is  Tested  323 

grey  Nirvana  of  those  who  have  ceased  to  struggle : 
— "an  infinite  twilight  of  content  with  nothing 
more  to  lose." 

After  breakfast  she  told  her  father  that  Jeremy- 
was  coming  that  day. 

"I  am  glad  for  your  sake,  dear,"  he  answered 
tonelessly. 

Silence  fell,  while  Desiree  sought  for  words  in 
which  to  prepare  him  for  what  might  come. 
Suddenly  she  realized  that  her  care  was  needless. 
Her  father  was  as  aloof  from  the  world  of  every  day 
as  her  mother  had  been  in  her  fever.  Nothing 
had  power  to  hurt  him  now.  Nothing  she  could 
say  would  pain  or  even  prick  him  back  from  his 
detachment.  In  a  flash  of  intuition  she  saw  the 
clean  beauty  and  safety  of  the  naked  Truth.  It 
would  be  hers  for  the  future,  come  what  might. 
She  would  have  no  more  to  do  with  evasions. 

"Jeremy  wants  to  marry  me  on  Thursday," 
she  said  at  last.  Her  clear  tones  penetrated  the 
Rector's  abstraction. 

"So  soon?"  he  asked  absently. 

"I  am  going  to  tell  him  first." 

"Tell  him?"  His  tone  was  faintly  interroga- 
tory. 

"About  my  getting  into  debt,"  Desir6e  went 
on,  with  difficulty.  "He  despises  people  who 
run  into  debt.  .  .  .  I — couldn't  marry  him  under 
false  pretences.  .  .  .  Perhaps  he  won't  want  to 
marry  me  when  he  knows." 

Her  father  rose  from  his  seat,  a  spark  of  fire 


324  The  Beloved  Sinner 

suddenly  lighted  in  his  sunken  eyes,  and  faced  her. 
His  tone  lost  its  deadness  and  sharpened  with 
longing. 

"I  envy  you.  How  I  envy  you,  Desiree! 
You  will  have  the  relief  which  is  denied  to  me. 
Whether  Jeremy  Vyse  marries  you  or  not  you  will 
have  clean  hands  and  a  clean  heart.  I — tell  him 
about  me."  He  stopped  abruptly,  put  his  hands 
before  his  eyes,  and  went  with  bent  head  and 
lagging  steps  out  of  the  room.  .  .  .  Desiree 
looked  wistfully  after  him.  She  longed  to  follow 
him,  to  try  to  comfort  him,  but  did  not  dare.  He 
was  set  apart.  .  .  . 

The  morning  dragged,  the  daily  tasks  seemed 
as  meaningless  as  they  were  endless.  Nothing 
had  the  power  of  diverting  Desiree 's  mind  from 
what  lay  before  her.  Her  whole  being  was 
strained  to  the  effort  of  hearing  the  approach  of 
Jeremy's  car.  Every  sound,  the  lowing  of  a  cow, 
the  whistle  of  a  distant  train,  even  the  rumble 
of  a  cart  on  the  road,  quickened  her  heart-beats. 
Her  head  burned:  her  hands  and  feet  were  like 
ice  in  spite  of  the  sultriness  of  the  late  August 
morning. 

In  reality  it  was  quite  early  when  Jeremy 
arrived.  He  was  already  in  the  hall,  alert  and 
eager,  his  grey  eyes  clear  and  shining,  when  she 
forced  her  dragging  limbs  to  go  and  meet  him. 
He  swept  her  into  the  drawing-room,  shut  the 
door  on  curious  eyes,  and  had  her  in  his  arms  al- 
most as  soon  as  she  realized  that  he  was  there. 


Jeremy  is  Tested  325 

She  clung  to  him  passionately;  then,  to  her  dis- 
may, broke  into  a  fit  of  tearless  sobbing.  Long 
shudders  shook  the  slender  body  in  Jeremy's  arms. 
He  was  distressed  and  shocked  beyond  measure 
at  the  change  wrought  in  her  in  so  short  a  time. 
He  had  left  a  Desiree  fragile  enough,  but  here  he 
found  the  quenched  little  ghost  of  her  former  self. 
It  was  time  he  had  come  to  take  matters  into  his 
own  hands.  Had  no  one  been  looking  after  her? 
How  careless  they  were  of  his  treasure!  But  he 
would  soon  alter  that. 

"You  are  mine  now,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
bending  his  lips  to  her  ear.  "I  shall  not  let  you 
go  again  until  I  must." 

At  the  sound  of  his  dear  voice,  the  greatness  of 
her  love  for  him  rose  and  calmed  her.  The 
shuddering  sobs  grew  less  frequent.  She  leaned 
against  him,  trying  to  gather  strength  for  her 
avowal.  Just  for  one  blessed  moment  he  was  hers, 
unaltered.     She  clung  to  that. 

"I  always  give  you  a  melancholy  welcome," 
she  said  at  last,  trying  to  smile.  "I  think  it's 
because  the  sight  of  you  makes  me  realize  how 
terribly  I've  missed  you." 

' '  My  darling !  I  can't  bear — I —  "  He  stopped. 
He  must  not  agitate  her  any  further.  "I  thought 
I  should  never  get  here.  The  way  seemed  end- 
less. .  .  .  You  are  going  to  marry  me  tomorrow, 
aren't  you?" 

Her  moment  was  over.     She  raised  herself. 

"I — ^Jerry —    There  is  something  I  must  tell 


326  The  Beloved  Sinner 

you  first."      Her  lips  whitened.     They  felt  very 
stiff. 

"Tell  it  here  in  the  shelter  of  my  arms." 

"No,  no.  I  can't!  I  can't!"  she  cried  wildly. 
**If  I  felt  them  push  me  away  it  would  kill  me." 

"They  would  never  push  you  away,  no  matter 
what  you  told  me."  His  face  was  lit  by  that 
tenderness  which  she  alone  had  power  to  evoke. 
But  she  had  also  seen  its  capacity  for  changing. 
She  could  not  risk  that.  Even  to  feel  his  arms 
relax  around  her — she  could  not  bear  it,  she  felt. 
No,  she  must  loose  herself  from  contact  with  him, 
even  if  it  were  for  the  last  time.  She  must  make 
her  confession  facing  him,  so  that  she  could  see 
his  every  passing  trace  of  feeling.  His  was  not  an 
easy  face  to  read,  that  she  knew:  but  love  had 
cleared  her  vision.  She  would  see  her  sentence 
in  his  eyes,  forgiveness  or  that  sudden  hardening 
look  of  condemnation. 

' ' Don't  you  trust  me? "  There  was  a  hurt  ring 
in  Jeremy's  voice. 

"Yes.  No.  I  don't  know,"  faltered  Desir^e. 
"Yes,  of  course  I  trust  you,  Jerry,  but  then — you 
don't  know.  .  .  .  You  don't  know  me,  the  real 
me."  She  gathered  courage  as  she  drew  herself 
away  from  him  and  faced  him  with  tightly  clasped 
hands. 

Jeremy  watched  her  wonderingly.  He  made  no 
attempt  to  touch  her.  "Tell  me  what's  troubling 
you  as  quickly  as  you  can  and  then  come  back  to 
me ' '  he  said  gently.     '  *  My  arms  feel  very  empty. " 


Jeremy  is  Tested  327 

"Perhaps  they'll  always  be  empty — of  me," 
she  said  with  a  little  gasp,  her  fingers  working 
nervously. 

* '  Desiree !     You  don't  mean  that  ? ' ' 

"It's  for  you  to  decide,"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
Jeremy,  let  me  tell  you  when  I  can.  .  .  .  You 
remember  I  always  said  that  you  mustn't  idealize 
me,  that  I  was  just  an  ordinary  human  girl,  full 
of  faults  and  flaws." 

Jeremy  nodded.  In  spite  of  his  protest  his 
heart  sank  a  little.  What  could  she  have  to  tell 
him  that  could  bring  such  a  look  of  desperation 
to  her  little  white  quivering  face?  Not  that  she 
did  not  love  him?  His  heart  told  him  that  was 
impossible.  Not  that  she  would  not  marry  him 
on  account  of  her  father?  That,  too,  was  easily 
combated.  Another  man?  Equally  impossible. 
He  listened,  feeling  powerless  to  help  her  until 
she  had  finished  and  he  knew  what  she  was  driv- 
ing at.  At  present  he  felt  as  if  he  were  muffled 
in  a  fog. 

"You  put  me  on  a  pedestal,"  she  continued. 
* '  You  remember  I  asked  you  not  to,  but  you  would. 
I  should  never  have  been  there.  I  never  really 
was  there.  .  .  .  Jeremy,  I  am  one  of  those  people 
whom  you  most  despise.  ...  I  got  into  debt. 
I  ordered  things  I  hadn't  the  money  to  pay  for. 
I  let  it  go  on  and  on  without  thinking  and  then — 
when  the  bill  came — an  enormous  bill — I  had  no 
money.  It  was  when  mother  was  ill.  I — went 
to  my  father.     He — it  was  a  great  shock  to  him. 


328  The  Beloved  Sinner 

We  knew  that  mother  would  help  us,  for  she  had 
money  of  her  own,  but  she  was  too  ill  to  be 
troubled.  .  .  .  Later  on  that  day  he  gave  me  a 
cheque  to  pay  the  bills.  I — didn't  know  until — 
afterwards  what  had  happened.  It  was  the  day 
Mr.  Bamet,  mother's  solicitor,  came  to  tell  us 
that  all  her  fortune  was  gone  in  some  unlucky 
speculation.  My  father's  face  frightened  me. 
I  went  back  to  the  study  when  Mr.  Bamet  had 
gone.  He  said — I  won't  tell  you  what  he  said. 
It  wasn't  true,  of  himself,  I  mean.  Everything 
that  happened  was  my  fault,  mine  only.  .  .  .  He 
told  me  that  he  had  borrowed  some  money  Lord 
Garry  had  sent  for  the  Restoration  Fund,  meaning 
to  pay  it  back  as  soon  as  mother — was  better,  .  .  . 
He  couldn't — now.  .  .  .  He — oh,  I  can't  go 
on.  You  know  about  me.  That's  all  that  con- 
cerns us." 

She  stopped,  afraid  to  look  at  him  after  all. 
Her  heart-beats  sounded  like  drums  of  fear  in  her 
ears.     She  could  hear  nothing  else. 

Jeremy's  face  had  set  a  little  during  the  broken 
recital.  It  gave  no  index  of  the  conflict  of  emo- 
tions within.  When  she  had  finished  he  spoke 
very  quietly.  His  voice  sounded  dry  and  toneless 
in  Desiree's  ears,  void  of  feeling  of  any  kind. 
She  could  not  guess  at  the  effort  it  gave  him  to 
make  it  so. 

"This  happened — how  long  ago?" 

"The  bill  came  only  last  month." 

"I  mean  how  long  was  it  going  on  altogether?'* 


Jeremy  is  Tested  329 

Desiree  flushed  painfully.  "Almost  since  I 
first  had  my  dress  allowance,  three  years  ago. 
I  just  drifted.  I  never  thought — but  I  know 
that's  no  excuse.  I'm  not  making  any."  Her 
head  went  up  with  a  touch  of  its  old  pride. 

"And  the  bm  is  paid?" 

"The  bill  is  paid." 

"You  needn't  have  told  me." 

"No?" 

"It  belonged  to  your  past  life,  the  part  with 
which  I  had  nothing  to  do, "  he  said  slowly. 

"Is  there  any  part  of  my  life  with  which  you 
could  have  nothing  to  do?"  she  broke  out.  "I 
gave  it  all  to  you  when  I  gave  any." 

"Were  you — afraid  to  tell  me?"  he  asked  very 
low. 

She  met  his  gaze  without  flinching. 

"Yes,"  she  answered  steadily.  "But  I  was 
more  afraid  not  to." 

"Why?" 

"Can't  you  guess  why?  .  .  .  I  couldn't  marry 
without  letting  you  know  that — that  I  wasn't 
as  good  as  you  thought  me, "  she  ended  child- 
ishly. Then,  the  child  all  merged  into  the 
woman,  she  came  to  the  crux:  "Cousin  Lud- 
low said  that  men  serve  women  kneeling  and 
when  they  get  on  their  feet  they  go  away. 
Now  that  you  are  on  your  feet,  Jeremy,  are 
you — going    away?    Tell  me.     I  can't  wait." 

"But  I'm  not  on  my  feet,  "  he  cried,  flinging  re- 
straint to  the  winds.    '  *  I  am  on  my  knees  at  yoiys. ' ' 


330  The  Beloved  Sinner 

To  her  utmost  astonishment  he  knelt  before 
her,  pressing  his  face  against  her  as  Leander  Wing 
had  done  long  ago  in  the  Bluebell  Wood,  clasping 
her  with  hungry  arms. 

"Why,  Jeremy — "  her  voice  trailed  away  in  her 
surprise.  Speech  left  her.  Her  hands  touched 
his  head  tremulously. 

"Can  you  ever  forgive  me?"  he  cried  passion- 
ately. "What  a  brute,  what  a  prig  I  must  have 
been  to  make  you  suffer  like  this!  Don't  you 
know  how  I  love  you,  my  heart's  heart?  Don't 
you  know  that  you  are  as  myself,  that  nothing  in 
the  world  you  did  could  make  any  difference? 
That  you  are  mine,  me,  my  other  half?  That  I 
love  you,  love  you,  love  you?"  He  caught  her 
thin  little  hands  and  covered  them  with  kisses, 
abasing  himself  before  her. 

"Then  you  don't  really  mind?"  she  said  faintly. 
She  stopped  to  raise  him,  longing  to  feel  his  arms 
between  her  and  the  world  once  more. 

' '  Mind  ? ' '  He  clasped  her  to  him  as  if  he  would 
never  let  her  go. 

"Cousin  Ludlow  said  that  one  could  hate  the 
sin  and  love  the  sinner  only  if  one  had  loved  the 
sinner  beforehand.     You  did." 

* '  Your  Cousin  Ludlow  seems  to  have  occasional 
glimmers  of  sense.  But  I  won't  admit  that  you're 
a  sinner.  .  .  .  You?  The  bravest,  pluckiest, 
whitest  soul!  .  .  .  You  humiliate  me  with  the 
greatness  of  your  love.  You  must  try  to  dra\/ 
me  up  to  your  heights." 


Jeremy  is  Tested  331 

"Jeremy,  don't  put  me  on  a  pedestal  again," 
she  besought.  "Let  me  stay  here,  close  to  you, 
with  your  hand  in  mine  to  help  me  over  the  stones. 
We'll  climb  together  as  high  as  we  can.  ,  .  . 
But  no  more  pedestals,  my  man.  The  risk  of 
another  fall  would  kill  me." 

"You  did  not  really  think  that — this — would 
prevent  me  from  wanting  to  marry  you?"  he 
asked  after  a  while. 

"I — didn't  know,"  she  answered,  leaning  against 
him  with  a  sigh  of  content.  ' '  If  you  had  only  seen 
your  face  when  you  spoke  of  people  running  into 
debt !     It  was  the  face  of  a  strange  man,  Jeremy." 

"I'm  glad  I  didn't.  I  see  it  often  enough  as  it 
is.  Let's  forget  it  all  now  and  think  only  of  the 
future.  ,  .  .  You  are  going  to  marry  me  to- 
morrow, aren't  you?" 

"Yes, "  she  breathed,  answering  his  question  at 
last.     Their  lips  met. 

"If  you  had  said  'no'  it  would  have  been  a  case 
of  marriage  by  capture,"  he  said.  "I  have  a 
special  licence  in  my  pocket  and  a  motor-car 
panting  for  adventure." 

"I  haven't  made  any  arrangements,"  she  said, 
a  little  startled.     "I  was  afraid  to." 

Jeremy  held  her  to  him  with  a  stab  of  self- 
reproach.  "There's  plenty  of  time.  I've  made 
all  mine.     The  rest  can  be  easily  done." 

* '  What  are  yours  ? ' '  she  asked.  It  was  heavenly 
sweet  to  be  thought  for  and  cared  for  again:  to 
know  that  one  could  drift  on  a  tide  of  content, 


332  The  Beloved  Sinner 

and  need  worry  and  struggle  no  longer.  This  was 
no  grey  Nirvana  of  twilight  impassivity.  She  had 
struggled  through  the  thorns  of  the  "high  rose- 
hedge"  and  reached  at  last  the  Paradise  within. 

"To  be  married  tomorrow  by  your  father  as 
early  as  you  can  manage.     Then ' ' 

"Yes,  then?" 

"Then  we  shall  go  in  the  car  for  a  honeymoon 
of  a  day  and  a  night  to  the  quaintest  little  village, 
all  cobblestones  and  flower-gardens,  with  the 
smell  of  the  moor  about  us,  and  a  distant  sea-tang 
in  the  air.  After  which  we  shall  come  back  to 
Bressy,  pick  up  your  father  and  take  him  with  us 
to  Beaumont  for  the  rest  of  my  free  time.  Will 
that  do  for  the  present?" 

"It  sounds  like  a  dream — too  good  to  be  true, " 
she  murmured  with  closed  eyes. 

After  a  little  he  said  diffidently:  "I  suppose 
your  father  wouldn't  think  of  letting  me  pay  for 
those  frocks  and  things  of  yours?  I'd  love  to 
pay  for  your  chiffons,  my  Dede." 

The  cheek  touching  his  reddened  and  moved 
uneasily. 

"No,  my  dearest.  He  would  not  like  you  even 
to  suggest  such  a  thing.  He — I'm  afraid  he  would 
think  it  a  monstrous  and  indelicate  idea." 

Jeremy  sighed.  He  had  known,  even  while  he 
had  made  the  suggestion,  that  it  was  out  of  the 
question. 

"Is  there  no  way  in  which  we  could  lift  his 
burden,  you  and  I  ? " 


Jeremy  is  Tested  333 

So  sweet  a  coupling,  lately  in  jeopardy  for  ever, 
stilled  thought  for  a  moment.  Then  an  inspira- 
tion came  to  Desiree. 

"There  is  the  screen, "  she  exclaimed. 

"What  screen?" 

She  told  him  about  it. 

' '  The  very  thing.  Do  you  think  he  would  let  us 
give  it  to  St.  Osyth's  in  memory  of  your  mother?" 
asked  Jeremy  gently. 

"Dear  Jerry,"  she  said  very  softly,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears.     ' '  If  only  she  were  here ! ' ' 

"She  is  happy  in  your  happiness,  somewhere, " 
said  Jeremy,  with  the  shy  gruffness  of  a  reticent 
man.  "Do  you  think  your  father  would  see  us 
if  we  went  to  him  now.  .  .  .?  I  hope  he  will 
let  us  give  that  screen." 

"I  hope  so  too, "  said  Desiree. 

Neither  she  nor  any  one  else  had  ever  guessed 
at  the  iconoclastic  fury  which  had  sometimes 
seethed  beneath  the  surface  of  Lady  Brigid's  gen- 
tleness at  the  very  thought  of  the  screen  which, 
in  all  loving  reverence,  Desiree  was  now  proposing 
to  erect  as  a  memorial  to  her. 

It  would  have  brought  a  twinkle  to  her  blue  eyes 
had  she  not  left  such  mundane  matters  willingly 
behind  her  for  ever. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE  VEILED  FRIEND  ' 

A  SUBDUED  ripple  of  excitement  ran  through  the 
Rectory.  Even  the  quietest  of  weddings  produces 
an  inevitable  stir,  and  the  reaction  of  the  house- 
hold after  the  long  strain  of  illness  and  grief  was 
pathetic  in  its  efforts  to  achieve  the  orthodox  at- 
mosphere. 

Bunt  ransacked  the  garden  for  its  choicest 
products.  Jane  unearthed  a  boy  to  run  to  Bressy 
Park  with  an  invitation  to  Lord  Garry  to  dine  and 
sleep,  and  produced,  from  some  forgotten  comer, 
two  gold-foiled  bottles  of  champagne,  in  which  to 
drink  the  health  of  bride  and  groom.  Cook,  in 
the  intervals  of  preparing  an  adequate  dinner, 
spent  her  best  efforts  on  a  cake  for  Desiree  to 
take  back  with  her  to  her  future  home.  The 
icing  should  have  set  by  then,  she  thought,  and 
a  wedding  without  a  bride-cake  was  no  wedding 
at  all! 

The  vibrations  of  the  atmosphere  did  not  pene- 
trate as  far  as  the  study,  where  Noel  Hasard  sat 
in  a  quietude  of  mind  that  was  not  far  removed 
from   peace.     He  had  acquiesced  gently  in   all 

334 


The  Veiled  Friend  335 

Desir6e's  plans ;  had  consented  to  the  hasty  mar- 
riage; had  allowed  himself  to  be  persuaded  into 
accepting  the  gift  of  the  screen  from  Jeremy  for 
his  once-loved  church;  but  all  with  the  air  of  one 
whom  such  matters  had  no  longer  any  power  to 
touch. 

"You  know?"  he  asked  Jeremy  before  he  con- 
sented to  allow  him  to  give  the  screen. 

"Desiree  has  told  me,"  Jeremy  answered. 

"And  you  do  not  condemn?" 

"There  is  nothing  to  condemn,  sir,"  said 
Jeremy  stoutly. 

"Ah,  you  young  people,  with  your  ultra-lenient 
modem  views!"  he  said,  but  he  smiled  faintly  as 
he  spoke. 

It  was  the  first  time  Desiree  had  seen  him  smile 
since  her  mother's  death.  .  .  . 

With  a  heart  too  full  for  words  she  made  her 
preparations  for  the  quiet  eight  o'clock  wedding. 
She  hid,  for  Jeremy's  sake,  her  longing  for  her 
mother  and  the  inevitable  loneliness  at  such  a  time 
which  smote  her  with  a  real  physical  pang.  For 
Jeremy's  sake  she  discarded  her  mourning  and 
slipped  into  a  simple  white  frock,  that  went  with 
her  grandmother's  pearls  and  the  posy  of  white 
carnations  he  had  brought  her  from  Beaumont. 

Lord  Garry,  who  gave  her  away,  thought,  as  he 
stood  behind  the  two  unconscious  of  all  but  each 
other  in  the  dusky  mote-filled  church,  that  never 
before  had  he  heard  vows  made  with  more  absolute 
sincerity.    As  they  stood,  hand  in  hand,  before  the 


336  The  Beloved  Sinner 

altar,  repeating  those  most  solemn  and  binding 
promises  in  a  clear  echo  of  the  Rector's  fainter 
tones,  a  shaft  of  amber  light  struck  through  a 
saint's  robe  in  the  eastern  window,  and  fell  full 
upon  them,  detaching  the  group  from  the  sur- 
rounding shadows. 

Lord  Garry,  with  his  Celtic  imagination,  saw 
the  three  as  people  suddenly  rapt  apart.  Noel 
Hasard's  thin  worn  face  bore  a  look  of  spiritual 
exaltation.  In  the  eyes  of  the  two  who  turned  to 
look  at  each  other  as  they  bound  themselves  ' '  till 
death  us  do  part,"  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  that 
"light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land":  the  light 
which  is  but  a  dim  reflection  of  the  Light  of  Love 
Eternal.  He  knew  great  lovers  when  he  saw 
them.  Here  were  two.  .  .  .  Thankfully  he  ac- 
knowledged to  himself  the  mistakes  of  his  vaunted 
psychology,  for  never  in  his  kindliest  reading  of 
her  character  had  he  visioned  his  godchild,  dear 
and  charming  plaything  as  she  had  always  been, 
as  rising  to  the  heights  to  which  she  had  now 
attained.  .  .  . 

He  felt  suddenly  old  and  lonely.  His  thoughts 
went  with  a  swift  pang  to  the  new  grave  by  the 
Lady  Chapel.  He  did  not  want  to  think  of  a 
remote  angel  Brigid :  he  had  an  insistent  longing 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  dear  irregular  face,  with  its 
wide  smile  and  twinkling  blue  eyes,  for  a  sound  of 
the  soft  Irish  voice  that  had  never  uttered  an 
unkindly  word  in  his  hearing.  Then,  quick  as 
thought,  he  looked  at  the  other  man  who  loved 


The  Veiled  Friend  337 

her,  the  man  whom  she  had  loved,  and  in  the 
peace  which  had  fallen  upon  him  like  a  benediction 
read  his  certainty  of  a  future  meeting.  He  would 
have  given  much  to  own  that  certainty  himself. 
Yet  deep  down  in  his  heart  lingered  more  than  a 
spark  of  faith  in  Someone — Something  more  than 
a  vague  Beneficence — who,  if  the  Writ  be  true  that 
"God  is  Love, "  must  see  that  no  least  flame  of  the 
Love  which  He  is  can  suffer  real  Death  .  .  . 
which  is  extinction. 

As  in  a  dream  Lord  Garry  heard  the  concluding 
words  of  the  service.  As  in  a  dream  he  followed 
the  bride  and  bridegroom  into  the  vestry.  He 
liked  Jeremy,  and  had  summed  him  up  in  a  phrase 
at  their  first  meeting. 

"More  a  man's  man  than  a  woman's,  but  De- 
siree's  for  all  time." 

Desiree!  His  play-child,  Dede,  had  not  only 
evoked  this  big  man's  love,  but  had  developed 
herself  to  an  extent  of  which  he  had  scarcely 
believed  her  capable.  Verily,  even  the  old  should 
walk  warily  in  their  judgments  of  those  whom  they 
deem  they  know  best.  .  .  . 

"Young  man,"  he  said  later  to  Jeremy,  as  he 
gripped  his  hand  and  wished  him  "Godspeed," 
' '  the  years  have  brought  me  one  pearl  of  wisdom 
which  I  bequeath  to  you.  Never  give  advice, 
whether  you're  asked  for  it  or  not." 

"He  only  says  that,"  broke  in  Desiree,  "because 
once  he  was  mistaken  in  his  judgment  of  a  person 
whom  he'd  never  even  seen." 


33^  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"No,  it  was  because — "  Lord  Gany  broke  off 
and  looked  at  her  very  tenderly.  "You  needn't 
imagine  that  because  you're  married  I'm  going  to 
let  you  browbeat  me.  Keep  that  for  that  big 
man  of  yours.  He  looks  as  if  he  could  stand  his 
share  of  it." 

Jeremy,  who  had  gone  to  the  waiting  car  and  re- 
turned with  a  white  fleecy  coat  for  Desiree,  smiled. 

"I  believe  it's  a  well-known  axiom  that  little 
women  always  bully  big  men.  Come,  my  little 
woman.  I  may  as  well  get  used  to  the  process 
as  soon  as  possible." 

Desiree  flung  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck. 

"We  shall  come  back  for  you  tomorrow,  dar- 
ling," she  whispered.     "Take  care  of  yourself." 

"Yes,  dear, "  he  answered  gently.  "I  shall  not 
keep  you  waiting.  God  bless  and  keep  you,  my 
darling  child.  .  .  .  Jeremy,  you  will  be  good  to 
her?"  He  turned  with  a  wistful  appeal  to  the 
younger  man. 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Jeremy,  his  voice  rough 
with  a  feeling  which  he  was  utterly  unable  to  put 
into  words. 

Laconic  as  his  answer  was  it  seemed  to  satisfy 
his  two  hearers. 

When  they  had  watched  the  car  out  of  sight, 
and  Lord  Garry  had  recovered  from  a  blow  upon 
the  head  from  the  old  slipper  which  Jane  had 
surreptitiously  produced  at  the  last  moment  and 
flung  after  the  bridal  pair,  with  more  zeal  than 
discretion,  he  turned  to  the  Rector. 


The  Veiled  Friend  339 

"That's  going  to  be  a  happy  marriage,  Hasard, " 
he  said.  "They  have  the  advantage  of  starting 
with  a  better  understanding  of  each  other  than 
many  couples  attain  after  a  year's  matrimony." 

"God  grant  you  may  be  right,"  answered  Noel 
Hasard  gently.  "There  is  no  earthly  joy  to  equal 
a  happy  marriage." 

"You  should  know  that,"  said  Lord  Garry, 
after  a  pause. 

"Yes,  thank  God.  I  know  that.  Garry,"  the 
Rector  went  on  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "I 
was — harsh  and  ungracious  to  you  the  other  day. 
In  my — straits — I  thought  only  of  myself  and 
ignored  your  kindness " 

' '  Oh,  nonsense, ' '  said  Lord  Garry  uncomfortably. 

"No,  it's  true.  You  have  heard  that  he — 
Desiree's  husband — insists  on  giving  the  screen  to 
St.  Osyth's  as  a — thank-offering  and  a — me- 
morial?" 

"Desiree  told  me." 

"He  is  a  good  lad — thoughtful  and  kind.  .  .  . 
I  have  no  pride  left.  I  see  now  what  a  stumbling- 
block  it  has  always  been.  .  .  .  Garry,  for  Brigid's 
sake,  will  you  forgive  my  hardness,  my  ingrati- 
tude  ?" 

Lord  Garry,  profoundly  touched  by  the  un- 
looked-for appeal,  grasped  the  thin  veined  hand 
held  out  to  him. 

"There  must  be  no  talk  of  forgiveness  between 
you  and  me,"  he  said  rather  huskily.  "We  are 
too  old  friends  for  that." 


340  The  Beloved  Sinner 

"You  loved  her,"  Noel  Hasard  said  unexpect- 
edly, looking  straight  at  the  other  man. 

Lord  Garry  did  not  pretend  to  misunderstand 
him.  Each  knew  that. only  one  woman  could  be 
meant. 

"Yes,"  he  admitted  slowly.  "But  there  was 
no  wrong  to  either  of  you  in  my  love." 

"I  know  that.  .  .  .  Yet  it  always  stood  be- 
tween us." 

"Yes.     I  suppose,  in  a  way,  it  did." 

"It  need  do  so  no  longer." 

"No, "  Lord  Garry  answered.    "No,  old  friend." 

The  two  men,  face  to  face  at  last  with  the  ele- 
mental fact  of  their  long  disagreement,  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes,  into  each  other's  souls.  Each 
felt  after  that  moment  of  intimate  knowledge,  that, 
although  temperamental  differences  might  and 
would  probably  arise  between  them,  they  could 
never  really  misunderstand  each  other  again. 

It  was  a  quietly  happy  Desiree  who  returned 
from  her  thirty-hours'  honeymoon. 

She  had  entered  her  woman's  kingdom,  and  the 
reaction  of  relief  and  happiness,  and  the  rapid 
march  of  events  in  the  past  two  days  had  brought 
with  them  a  joy  too  deep  and  full  for  the  effer- 
vescence of  mere  words.  In  her  inmost  heart  she 
felt  that  somewhere  the  beloved  mother  rejoiced 
with  her:  that  she  was  glad  of  her  happiness: 
glad  that  she  had  risen  above  her  grief  at  the  call 
of  the  Love  which  she,  too,  had  known — "terrible 


The  Veiled  Friend  341 

as  an  army  with  banners  "and  as  irresistible  in 
his  might. 

Jeremy?  Jeremy  felt  as  if  no  man  before  him 
had  ever  known  what  real  happiness  was :  as  if  no 
man  after  him  could  ever  properly  taste  it.  For 
this  he  pitied  a  universe  busied  about  other  and 
sterner  matters :  a  universe  which,  had  it  been 
aware,  would  not  have  grudged  him  his  hour  of 
Paradise  before  his  plunge  into  the  Unknown,  the 
inconceivable. 

When  the  car  drew  up  before  the  Rectory  door 
Jeremy  lifted  his  wife  out. 

"Tired,  beloved?"  he  asked  softly. 

"How  could  I  be  tired?"  she  answered.  "It 
has  all  been  like  a  wonderful  dream.  But  come, 
Jerry,  let's  go  to  him.  I  hope  he  hasn't  been  too 
lonely." 

The  hall-door  was  ajar.  Desiree  pushed  it  open 
and  went  in.  As  she  did  so  Jane  entered  the  hall 
with  a  tray  in  her  hands,  which  she  nearly  dropped 
at  sight  of  the  couple. 

"Well,  miss — ma'am,  I  should  say,  you  did 
give  me  a  turn!"  she  cried.  "You  came  that 
quietly  I  never  heard  you.  Have  you  had  lunch 
ma'am?" 

"Yes,  thank  you,  long  ago,"  Desiree  answered. 
"It's  after  two.  Is  that  the  master's  luncheon? 
Has  he  had  nothing  yet?" 

* '  No,  miss — ma'am,  I  mean.  When  I  went  to  the 
study  about  twelve  to  ask  about  his  lunch  he 
said  he  didn't  wish  for  any,  but  I  thought  I'd 


342  The  Beloved  Sinner 

bring  this  now  to  see  if  I  could  tempt  him  to  take 
a  bite." 

"You're  a  good  creature,  Jane.  I'll  just  run  in 
to  see  him  first.  He  must  eat  something  before 
the  journey.     I'll  ring  for  the  tray  in  a  moment." 

"Very  well,  ma'am." 

Desiree  crossed  the  hall  to  the  study,  with 
Jeremy  close  behind  her.  She  opened  the  door 
softly  and  peeped  in  with  a  smiling  face.  In- 
stantly she  drew  back,  her  hand  raised  cautiously. 

"He's  asleep,"  she  whispered.  "Gently, 
Jeremy." 

She  stole  on  tiptoe  into  the  room,  up  to  the 
chair  where  Noel  Hasard  lay  with  closed  eyes. 

The  sunlight  shone  upon  the  golden  background 
of  the  smiling  angels  above  him :  upon  the  silvered 
head  leaning  quietly  against  the  dark  cushion. 
There  was  a  great  stillness,  a  profound  peace  in 
the  room, 

Desiree's  light  footfalls  could  disturb  the  sleeper 
no  more.  Another  and  a  mightier  had  been  before 
her,  the  veiled  friend,  Death. 

Jeremy  saw  the  truth  first.  He  was  at  her  side, 
his  arm  round  her  before  she  realized  anything, 
his  gaze  on  the  white  face  with  its  mysterious  look 
of  frozen  rapture.  There  was  a  semblance  of 
youth,  too,  in  the  beautiful  chiselled  features, 
as  if  the  departing  spirit  had  left  behind  it  a  faint 
impress  of  the  joy  it  was  about  to  recapture. 

"Your  father  hasn't  waited  for  us,  darling, "  he 
said  very  gently.     "Be  brave.  ...     He  has  gone 


The  Veiled  Friend  343 

on  a  journey  without  us — a  happy  journey, 
Desiree." 

"Jeremy!"  She  clung  to  him  trembHng,  sud- 
denly pierced  by  the  truth. 

"Look  at  him,  my  wife, "  he  whispered,  holding 
her  closely.  "Who  that  saw  him  could  mourn 
for  him  ?  '  The  peace  that  passeth  understanding ' 
is  his  at  last.  He  has  seen  a  great  light.  .  .  . 
God  grant  that  we  may  see  it  together  when  our 
own  hour  strikes!" 


THE  END 


DRIFTING 
WATERS 

BY  RACHEL  SWETE  MACNAMARA 

Author  of 
"The  Fringe  of  the  Detert,"  "The  Torch  of  life,"  etc. 

,12",    Illustrated.    $1.35 

The  rebellion  of  a  young  girl,  budding  into 
womanhood,  against  the  jealous  proprietorship 
of  a  mother's  love.  There  has  been  much 
in  the  married  life  of  this  mother  to  account 
for  her  bitterness  of  soul  and  to  explain  her 
tyrannous  affection  that  demands,  from  the 
daughter  whom  she  loves,  a  singleness  of  de- 
votion to  the  exclusion  of  everyone  else.  The 
daughter's  fancy  is  in  time;  caught  in  the 
meshes  of  love,  and  the  clandestine  expression 
of  her  attachment,  which  the  circumstances 
demand,  involves  developments  of  far-reach- 
ing interest  to  the  unfolding  of  the  story.  The 
scene  is  in  part  England,  in  part  Egypt — the 
haunting,  glowing,  throbbing  Egypt  that  the 
author  has  again  made  so  real. 

New  York         G.    P.    Putnam's    Sons         London 


The  Untamed 

By 
Max  Brand 

72°.     Color  Wrapper.    $1.50  net.    By  mail,  $Z,6s 

A  tale  of  the  West,  a  story  of  the  Wild;  of 
three  strange  comrades, — Whistling  Dan  of 
the  untamed  soul,  within  whose  mild  eyes 
there  lurks  the  baleful  yellow  glare  of  beast 
anger;  of  the  mighty  black  stallion  Satan,  King 
of  the  Ranges,  and  the  wolf  devil  dog,  to 
whom  their  master's  word  is  the  only  law,— 
and  of  the  Girl. 

How  Jim  Silent,  the  ** lone-rider"  and  out- 
law, declared  feud  with  Dan,  how  of  his  right- 
hand  men  one  strove  for  the  Girl,  one  for 
the  horse,  and  one  to  "  *  get '  that  black  devil 
of  a  dog,"  and  their  desperate  efforts  to 
achieve  their  ends,  iorva  but  part  of  the  stir- 
ring action. 

A  tale  of  the  West,  yes — but  a  most  un- 
usual one,  touched  with  an  almost  weird 
poetic  fancy  from  the  very  first  page,  when 
over  the  sandy  wastes  sounds  the  clear  sweet 
whistling  of  Pan  of  the  desert,  to  the  very 
last  paragraph  when  the  reader,  too,  hears  the 
cry  and  the  call  of  the  wild  geese  flying 
south. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


Blue  Aloes 

By 
Cynthia  Stockley 

Author  of  "Poppy,"  "The  Claw,"  ""Wild  Honey,"  etc 

W.     $1.50  net.     By  mail,  $1.65 

No  writer  can  so  unfailingly  summons 
and  materialize  the  spirit  of  the  weird, 
mysterious  South  Africa  as  can  Cynthia 
Stockley.  She  is  a  favored  medium 
through  whom  the  great  Dark  Continent 
its  tales  unfolds. 

A  strange  story  is  this,  of  a  Karoo  farm, 
— a  hedge  of  Blue  Aloes,  a  cactus  of 
fantastic  beauty,  which  shelters  a  myriad 
of  creeping  things, — a  whisper  and  a 
summons  in  the  dead  of  the  night, — an 
odor  of  death  and  the  old. 

There  are  three  other  stories  in  the 
book,  stories  throbbing  with  the  sudden, 
intense  passion  and  the  mystic  atmos- 
phere of  the  Veldt. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The 
Lady  from  Long  Acre 

By 
Victor  Bridges 

Author  of  "  A  Rogue  by  Compulsion  " 


J;?* 


As  Sir  Antony  Conway,  better  known 
as  Tony,  and  Tiger  Bugg,  hero  of  the 
prize  ring,  are  passing  Long  Acre  one 
dark  night,  they  see  a  young  woman 
evidently  seeking  escape  from  two  well- 
dressed  men.  Tony  and  Tiger  act 
quickly,  and  thereby  plunge  into  a  series 
of  amazing  and  fantastic  adventures, 
which  are  related  with  dramatic  force 
and  keen-edged  satire. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


A     000  127  402     6 


